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THE 



PASTOR'S STORY 



AND 



OTHER PIECES; 



OR, 



|ti0S4 mA $Qti\i^, 



BY M, A. H. GAY. 



SEVENTH EDITION. 



MEMPHIS, TENN.: 
PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY GOODWYN & Ca 

1871. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the Office of the Clerk 
of the Superior Court of DeKalb county, Georgia, 27th day of 
August, 1860. 



In Exchange 

Duke UniverBitf 

aUN 2 3 19b2 






TO 



%\t f aHu 0{ (BtaxfiK, 



THIS LITTLE VOLUME 



If MOST RESPECTFULLY D E D I C A T B B^ 



BY 



A NATIVE GEORGIAN. 



^ 



Conttnh. 



Local attachinents 9 

The little grave 18 

To my love 20 

Charity.... 22 

My valley home 25 

The dew-drop : 27 

Is this, Aen, life? 29 

The pastor's story 35 

Lines to a young lady , 78 

The robin 80 

Full many a flower 82 

To Mary 90 

An elegy on the death of a young lady 92 

Happiness 94 

Forget thee 95 

Lines 96 

The Sabbath 98 

The unfortunate 99 

Temperance address 101 

My childhood's home 109 

Tallahassee Falls Ill 

The ancient languages , 114 

Farewell, Alabama 118 

My heart to-night 120 

T 



VI. CONTENTS. 



The power of trifles 126 

To Mary 136 

Lines to my sister 13" 

Sing gently 14( 

Eeligion 14^ 

Don't cry, my bady 144 

The Sabbath 149 

Oothcalooga 154 

The salvation of the soul 156 

The busy-body 182 

To Ann 184 

Song 185 

"Willie to Mollie 187 

A vision * 189 

I'll love thee 195 

Song 196 

To Maria 198 

A leaflet from life's book 200 

The nineteenth century 205 

To God all trusts belong 223 

Fragment 225 

An undevout astronomer is mad 227 

The dream of love 234 

My spirit groom 238 

An oasis 241 

My bird 245 

Verses to a beautiful though very sad-looking young lady the 

writer saw in Southwestern Georgia 247 

In the graveyard 250 

Memory 257 

A Fragment 259 

The Zephyr 262 

Spring » 264 



. / 



THE 



PASTOR'S STORY. 



PROSE AND POETEY. 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 

There is no principle of the human heart more 
deeply planted, or more difficult to eradicate, than 
that of local attachments. 

Every nation on the globe, despite the disadvan- 
tages of its government or geographical position, 
clings to its native land with intense devotion. 

The Icelander, surrounded as he is by eternal 
snow, and liable at any moment to be engulfed in 
the fiery floods of some volcanic eruption, yet ex- 
claims with heartfelt emotion, ^'Iceland is the best 
land the sun shines upon !'* 

The Switzer, far from home, bears upon his heart 
the .image of his own cloud-capped Alps, and the 
blue lakes sleeping at their base. 

The Scotsman loves his heather hills; and the 

German never fails to speak the praises of his 

^'fatherland." 

1* (9) 



10 PROSF AND POETRY. 

Even tlie poor son of Erin, driven from his own 
green isle to seek in the land of the free an asylum 
from want and British tyranny, can yet look back 
with ^'swelling heart and a tear-stained cheek'* 
upon the receding clifts of the Emerald Isle. In 
that degraded but lovely land his childhood was 
spent ; and there in the quiet churchyard sleeps his 
young wife — she who when perishing from hunger 
could still smile for his sake. 

The emigrant ship glides swiftly over the waves, 
bearing him on to that land where there is ''work 
for all, and bread enough to spare;" but who can 
blame him for vowing, ''I'll ne'er forget old Ire- 
land !" And as he thinks of the magnificent forests 
of the l^ew World, he exclaims : 

*' Often in those grand old "woods 
I'll sit and shut my eyes, 
And my heart will wander back again 
To the spot where Mary lies." 

But while love of country is a universal prin- 
ciple, existing alike in millions of human hearts, at 
the same time each has his own particular home, 
which none can love so well as himself. Home ! 
WTiat heart does not thrill at the sound of that 
word ? It is closely connected with all that is dear 
on earth, whether past, present, or prospective. 
Within its well-remembered walls our first childish 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 11 

accents were heard ; and there the early buddings 
of intellect were watered and trained by a mother's 
guiding hand. By its fireside, impressions were 
made which ambition and worldly cares may dim 
but cannot obliterate. 

The traveller may visit the palaces of kings and 
princes, and be a welcome guest at the hearth- 
stones of a foreign land, but he still yearns for home 
and the loved ones there. He engages passage on 
a homeward-bound vessel, and at last, after many 
wanderings by sea and by land, he is nearing the 
goal for which he has sighed. He has but to cross 
the little bridge, surmount the brow of the hill, and 
the old farm-house bursts upon his anxious vision, 
surrounded by the same beautiful lilacs and clus- 
tering vines. With trembling hand he lifts the 
gate-latch ; creeping on tiptoe he enters the porch, 
and with straining eje peeps in upon the familj^ 
group, all unconscious of his approach. With 
grateful heart he finds that not one is missing from 
that loved circle ; his heart swells with uncon- 
trollable emotion, and in the very fulness of grati- 
tude he exclaims : 

" Be it ever so humble, 

There's no place like home." 

The sailor may look with admiring wonder on 



12 PBOSB AND POBTRY- 

the beauties, the majesty of the great deep, when 
its waves are sleeping beneath the silvery moon- 
beams, or when 

**The foam- wreath glows with its phosphor light, 
Like a crown on a sea-nymph's brow." 

He may gaze on these same waves when lashed in 
fary by the tempest's wrath, but yet, "oft in the 
stilly night" he weeps as there steal over his soul 
the loved visions of home. 

The tottering steps of the aged pilgrim are near- 
ing the verge of Jordan. He has but little recol- 
lection of the scenes through which he has but 
recently passed, but speak to him of the home of 
his early youth, and the dim eye will brighten, and 
the faltering tongue grow eloquent, as it discourses 
of the days of yore. All else may be forgotten, but 
the home of childhood, never. 

Who does not cherish a strong attachment for 
the old schoolhouse, where first they learned to say 
A, B, C, etc., the elements of all subsequent attain- 
ments? It may be an humble building of logs, 
but we love it for all that. As years roll on, we 
may enter a more dignified structure, but whether 
it be academy, seminary, or college, our attach- 
ment for the place where our schooldays were 
spent is still the same. Each room has its own 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 13 

peculiar associations, not the less dear because 
sometimes sad. They must be callous indeed who 
do not love the very spot where, day by day, the 
powers of the soul are consciously expanded, its 
glorious attributes developed, while listening to the 
sublime truths of physical science, or the philoso- 
phy of the mind, expounded by a gifted and beloved 
teacher. 

Among ''the pictures that hang on memory's 
wall,*' is one of a little church, situated on a gently 
rising knoll, and almost surrounded by a group of 
forest trees, untouched by the woodman's axe. 
Apart from the world, there is nothing to disturb 
its sacred silence, save the soft hymn of a bird, 
heard at intervals amid its leafy shades. At the 
sunset hour, how sweet it is to linger about this 
lovely, this consecrated spot, and meditate upon 
the solemn events which have here transpired ! 
How vividly we recall the lineaments of the faithful 
pastor, who for years has ministered to the people 
wont to assemble here ! How often from the sacred 
desk have the unsearchable riches of Christ's dying 
love been proclaimed, the thoughtless aroused, and 
the heavy-laden soul relieved of its burden as it 
was brought to the foot of the cross, and pointed to 
the crown of immortality ! Just in sight, on yonder 
hill -side, gleam the white marble pillars which 



14 PROSE AND POETRY. 

serve to mark the last resting-place of fallen human- 
ity. There many a worn soldier of the cross, with 
''feet torn and bleeding by the way," lays him 
down in peace to sleep till the last trump shall 
awake him to the resurrection of the just. There 
are little hillocks, too, beneath whose green sod lies 
many a household pet. In every part of the 
grounds, paths are seen leading to the graves of the 
loved and lost, proving that some at least love even 
the city of the dead. 

It may be my lot to sit beneath the dome of some 
lofty cathedral or magnificent church, where ele- 
gance meets the eye and fills the mind with ad- 
miration, and the pealing notes of the full-toned 
organ seem borrowed from angel harps ; but yet 
amid all this splendor my heart would wander 
back again to its own loved village church. It 
may be my lot to roam through the beautiful 
cemeteries of the opulent, where the hand of art 
has done much to rob the place of its wonted 
solemnity, and 

** The sculptor's art exhaust the pomp of woe, 
And storied urns record who rests below ;" 

but yet amid all this mockery my heart would 
wander back again to its own loved village grave- 
yard, boasting no sacrilegious pomp. 

Local attachments: but for this principle, many 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 15 

wise purposes had been defeated ; man would not 
have remained in one place sufficiently long to have 
made those improvements which so greatly contri- 
bute to the comfort and enjoyment of the human 
race ; convenient and beautiful homes would never 
have been erected, nor stately cities built. In pro- 
portion as civilization advances, local attachments 
increase. The nomadic tribes of ancient Britain, 
and other countries, had no fixed habitations, but 
wandered from place to place in quest of pasturage 
for their flocks and herds. Now the homes of 
England show that these aborigines have been suc- 
ceeded by a nobler race, created for a higher des- 
tinv: 

** The Saxon, in his pride of high descent, 
And Gaul, with spirit harp of finer strings,'* 

have reared ancestral homes, which will be loved 
and honored throughout all succeeding generations. 
Some there may be who have no local attach- 
ments. Such we do not envy, for surely their 
hearts must be as hard as the nether millstone. 
Great and good men have always loved native 
land and native home. List to the beautiful author 
of the Course of Time : 

*< Nor do I of earthly sort remember — 
If partial feeling to my native place 
Lead not my lyre astray — of fairer view, 



16 PEOSEANDPOli.TRY. 

And comelier walk, than the blue mountain paths 

And snowy cliffs of Albion renowned. 

Nor do I of that isle remember aught 

Of prospect more sublime and beautiful, 

Than Scotia's northern battlement of hills, 

Which I from my father's house beheld, 

At dawn of life ; beloved in memory still." 

An anecdote illustrating Daniel Webster's love 
of home is doubtless familiar to many. He was 
born in a log-cabin, raised among tbe snow-drifts 
of New Hampshire. Years after, when his un- 
rivalled eloquence and statesmanship had made 
him a nation's idol, he still paid an annual visit to 
the remains of this rural home. His own words 
are : " I love to dwell on the tender recollections, 
the kindred ties, the early affections and narrations 
and incidents, which mingle with all I know of this 
primitive family abode, and I weep to think that 
none who then inhabited it are now among the 
living.'' 

To local attachments may be ascribed the high 
position which America occupies among the na- 
tions of the earth. It was the love of country and 
the love of home that nerved our forefathers for 
the great revolutionary struggle, and we, their 
posterity, are this day the witnesses of the glorious 
result — the recipients of the inestimable benefits. 

But notwithstanding the many good effects 



LOCAL ATTACHMENTS. 17 

which have resulted from this principle, still it 
Qiight not to be allowed to fasten our affections 
too closely about this perishing earth — it ought 
not to be allowed to entwine the tendrils of our 
hearts too closely around perishing objects. This 
beautiful world, with all its lovely scenes, must 
pass away. There is but one locality which we 
can safely love with all the heart, and dread not 
its loss ! That place is heaven. We need not 
fear that we can ever have too strong an attach- 
ment for that bright abode. When once sheltered 
within its pearly gates, we will go no more out 
for ever ; for there no parting is known, and there 
"no farewell tear is shed." 



18 P H S B A N D P E T E Y, 



THE LITTLE GRAVE. 

There is a little grave to memory dear, 

In a field 'tis situate — a river near. 

No marble slab marks that consecrated spot : 

Though neglected, by me 'twill ne'er be forgot. 

A lovely little rosebud lies withered there, 

Its beauty and fragrance for this earth too fair ; 

Death, the archer, pierced it — ^transformed it to 

clay, 
But Heaven snatched the spirit and bore it away 

To realms full of bliss, of purity, and love, 

To join the sweet choir of blest children above : 

Sing, angel sister, I am glad thou art gone 

From this world full of troubles and hearts forlorn. 

I am glad thou hast escaped the tempter's snares ; 
I am glad thou never breathed the sinner's prayers ; 
I am glad thou art with Christ whilst tender and 

young, 
For surely by such his praises should be sung ! 



IHE LITTLE GRAVE. 19 

Thou art with our father, who before thee went, 
And an angel, it may be, after thee sent ! 
And with our grandparents — aged saints are they, 
Basking in the light of God's eternal day! 

Thou art a sparkling diamond in Jehovah's crown, 
Borne high over earth's woes, and secure from its 

frown ! 
Thou art a bright star in the courts of heaven, 
Shining with lustre to thee by God given ! 

Thou art a rich-toned organ, whose softest peal 
Would fill the whole earth, and its saddest heart 

heal ! 
Thou aH sister to Jesus ! to him very dear — 
The relationship made by God, who is near ! 

Sing on, happy spirit ! in realms of bliss sing ; 
Shine on, bright star! in the courts of heaven 

shine ! 
Peal on, sweet-toned organ ! angels are lisVning 
To the sister of Jesus — the sister of mine ! 



20 PROSE AND POETRY, 



TO MY LOVE. 

Dost thou think of me, loved one ? 

O dost thou think of me ? 
When far from thy side I'm gone, 

Who then doth cherish thee ? 

Dost think of me at morn's sweet hour. 
When holy thoughts have sway, 

And as the sun in kingly power 
Sends forth his farewell ray? 

Dost think of me in silent prayer, 

When purest spirits nigh, 
To Dear the humble strain up there, 

To Jesus Christ on high ? 

If I were sure that through the day, 
At morn and evening's hour. 

And when thou kneel' et to God to pray 
In closet or in bower, 



TOMYLOVE. 21 

That tliou, loved one, of me dost think, 

With soft affection's thrill, 
Though I were standing on death's brink, 

My soul with joy 'twould fill. 



22 PBOSK AND POETRY. 



CHARITY. 

** Pure in her aims, and in her temper mild, 
Her wisdom seems the wisdom of a child ; 
She makes excuses, when she might condemn. 
Reviled by those who hate her, prays for them ; 
Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast — 
The worst suggested, she believes the best ; 
Not soon provoked, however stung and teased. 
And, if perchance made angry, soon appeased ; 
She rather waives than will dispute her right. 
And, injured, makes forgiveness a delight." Cowper. 

In this age of ostentation and selfishness, charity 
has almost lost its sweet meaning. Instead of the 
pure, spontaneous offering of the heart, owing all 
value to sentiment, it has become a humiliating 
insult, resorted to by the rich to remind the poor 
of their inferiority and dependence. Sometimes 
people who have more than they know how to ap- 
propriate, magnanimously (?) bestow generous dona- 
tions on those possessing but little. But is that 
charity V 

Nor is great attention to public manifestations 
any evidence that true charity exists. The most 



CHARITY. 23 

selfish, heartless being on earth, governed alone by 
the rule of self-interest, regardless of the responsi- 
pility devolving on every individual to contribute 
to the comfort of the indigent, to " clothe the naked 
and feed the hungry,'' can converse as scientifically 
of relieving distress as though it were the fragrant 
breathing of a benevolent heart. 

We are not, however, considering superficial or 
aflfected charity, but that which had its birth in 
heaven : that which suflTereth long ; envieth not ; 
vaunteth not itself; seeketh not its own ; thinketh 
no evil; and rejoiceth not in iniquity: that which 
beareth all things ; believeth all good things ; 
hopeth all good things ; and endureth all things. 

Charity is the sister of Humility, and they re- 
ciprocally strengthen each other; subduing all 
malice, all hypocrisy, and all eyil-speaking ; spon- 
taneously suggesting all that is forgiving, candid, 
and compassionate ; striving always to think others 
better than themselves ; never severe on the frailties 
of others, because all are frail; declaiming not on 
a mote in another's eye, because none are exempt. 

Genuine charity leads its possessor to scenes of 
poverty, misery, and crime ; gives simplicity to the 
character; levels the difiFerences of the mind and 
situation ; facilitates a mutual flow of afifection ; 
and teaches the important truth, that the efficacy 



24 PROSE AND POETRY. 

of means of usefulness depends not on their 
imposing and expensive character, but on their 
skilful and earnest application. 

Shall we who have acquired the epithets of 
"guardian angels," and "angels of mercy,'* per- 
mit pride and selfishness to deprive us of the privi- 
lege of being recognized in heaven as the instru- 
ments of past alleviation ? 

The most favored of us should consider our own 
helplessness and inutility, unaided by Divine power, 
and let frieTuhhip, love^ and truth influence our 
every act. 

As an elevated standard gives elevation to the 
mind, let us compare our principles, motives, and 
obligations with what our Saviour has done for us 
and commanded us to do. And those who are 
luxuriating in opulence should remember they have 
an important trust to fill : to whom much is given, 
of them much will be required. They are impera- 
tively commanded to search out and relieve distress ; 
and to consider their "mightiest efforts as a drop 
of heavenly dew falling on the great salt waters.** 



MY VALLEY HOMB. 26 



MY VALLEY HOME. 

I LOVE my cottage by the moor, 
With woodbine running o*er the door; 
A green grass covering spread around, 
With blossoms to adorn the ground. 
I love that place, though 'tis no dome, 
But, sweeter far, it is my home 1 

I love the sun that shines for me 
Upon my cottage light and free : 
It stirs again my bee's wild hum, 
And brightens up my valley home. 
I love that place, though 'tis no dome, 
But, sweeter far, it is my home ! 

I love the moon that shines so bright, 
I love the stars with their mild light; 
They seem to linger near the spot, 
They seem to smile upon the cot. 
I love that place, though 'tis no dome, 
But, sweeter far, it is my home. 



26 PROSE AND POETRY* 

All things around that place I love, 
The earth beneath, the heavens above. 
When time on earth with me is o'er, 
0, lay me by that cottage door 1 
There let me wait till God doth come. 
To take me to my heavenly home. 



•THE DBW-DEOP. 27 



THE DEW-DROP 



It serves as morning beVrage, 
We drink it when we sup ; 

In ev'ry placa we find it, 
Except the drunkard's cup." 



No, you may search well from the bottom up, 
No dew-drop you'll find in the drunkard's cup ; 
But a Bohon Upas there you will find, 
Which, after the body, destroys the mind. 

Destroys the comfort of the father (dear, 
Whose head bears the frost of many a year; 
Destroys the peace of a fond mother's heart, 
Who never in pleasure again takes part. 

Destroys faith fraternal, in which there's love, 
Caught from the angels in heaven above ; 
Destroys affection too profound to tell. 
Which a sister's bosom full long doth swell. 



28 PROSH ANB POETRY* 

Destroys the happiness of her whose hand 
Forms the brightest linklet in Hymen's band ; 
Destroys the golden hopes of children young, 
Whose joyous song of mirth too goon was sung. 

Destroys the last fear of that Being great 
Who created man for a high estate, 
Who alone hath power the soul to save. 
And rob of its victory the cold, dark grave ! 

O ! you may search well from the bottom up, 
No dew-drop you'll find in the drunkard's cup ; 
But a Bohon Upas there you will find, 
Which, after the body, destroys the mind* 



18 THIS» THEN, LIFE? 29 



IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 

Is this, then, life ? ! was I born for this — 

To follow phantoms that elude the grasp ? 

Or whatsoe'er secured, within my clasp 

To withering lie ? as if an earthly kisa 

Were doomed death's shuddering touch alone to greet I 

life ! hast thou reserved no cup of bliss ? 
Must the unattained allure my feet ? 

The unattained with yearnings fill my breast, 
That rob for aye the spirit of its rest ? 
Yes, this is life, and everywhere I meet 
Not victor's crowns, but wailings of defeat ! 

1 falter not, for I have a test 

That shall incite me onward, upward still ; 

The present cannot sate, my soul it shall not fill. 

From the cradle to the grave it is the lot of 
humanity '^to follow phantoms that elude the 
grasp/' The little child catches at the sunbeams 
gilding the floor; he opens his tiny hand, expect- 
ing to hehold a bright treasure, but it is not there. 
He learns only by repeated disappointment that 
those glittering rays have no tangible form ! 

How ambitious, how confident is j^outh ! Its boast- 
ful language is, " Others may have been defeated 



8C PROSE AKD POETRY. 

in the battle of life, but, struggling, it may be, 
with a mighty army, I shall vanquish every foe. 
I shall trample under my feet every obstacle, and 
at last stand foremost in the rank — stand highest 
on the mount of earthly glory. A laurel wreath 
of unfading green awaits my brow. And when, 
full of honors, I shall have descended to the tomb, 
I will leave behind me ' footprints upon the sands 
of time,' which the tempestuous storms of the 
world's commotion can never blot out!" Pause, 
ambitious youth, and contemplate the career of 
one who, like thyself, sought to win a brighter 
fame than even a Caesar or an Alexander ! Earthly 
glory was his idol. To this he devoted his time, his 
talents, his best affections ; for this he was content 
^o sever the fond ties that bound a loving heart to 
nis ! On the altar of earthly fame he recklessly sacri- 
ficed his immortal soul. He became the most power- 
ful potentate of Europe. Kings and Pontiffs trem- 
bled at his name. But, alas ! how uncertain the 
duration of earthly honor — of earthly greatness! 
The hero of so many battles is at length subdued. 
His conquerors decree that he shall be banished 
to a lone isle of the ocean. There he spends a 
few years in ignominious exile and sorrow; and 
there, far from his native land, far from her to 
whom he was dearer than the vital principle which 



IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 81 

Bnstained her own unliappj^ life, he falls a victim 
to death, the last great conqueror ! 

The howling blast, the roaring billows, and 
the pealing thunder, chant his requiem ! The 
nations rejoice that he sleeps his last sleep, and 
will lead against them his conquering forces no 
more. 

Such will ever be the fate of those who seek 
merely for earthly fame — ^^of all the phantoms 
fleeting in the mist of time, the most unsubstan- 
tial, unessential shade." 

In the common walks of life, with what delight- 
ful emotions does the youthful mind look forward 
to some anticipated scene of festivity ! Imagin- 
ation is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of 
joy. In fancy, the voluptuous votary of fashion 
sees herself amid the festive throng, " the observed 
of all observers.'' Her graceful form, arrayed in 
snowy robes, is whirling through the mazes of 
the joyous dance ; her eye is brightest, her step 
is lightest in the gay assembly. 

In such delicious fancies time quickly glides by, 
and the welcome hour arrives for her entrance 
into the elysian world, of which she has had such 
bright dreams. How fairy-like does every thing 
appear to her enchanted vision ! each new scene 
is more charming than* the last. But after a while 



S2 PEOSE AND POETRY. 

slie finds that beneath this goodly exterior, all 
is vanity : the flattery which once charmed her 
soul, now grates harshly upon her ear; the ball- 
room has lost its charms ; and with wasted health 
and imbittered heart, she turns away with the 
conviction that earthly pleasures cannot satisfy 
the longings-, of the soul ! 

Mark the care-worn countenance of him who 
has wasted the best portion of life in the acquisition 
of wealth ; not that he might be enabled to relieve 
the wants of the destitute and afflicted, but that 
he might be powerful, and leave a rich legacy 
for his children when he is gone. Does his wealth 
secure happiness ? Ah, no ! He has exhausted 
his energies in accumulating a fortune, and re- 
ceived naught but vexation of spirit in return. 
He has sought for gold, and found but dross. 

Such are life*s scenes ! Change and disappoint- 
ment are written upon every leaf of Time's book. 
The present seems cheerless, oftentimes sad, and 
we look forward to the future for a *' reserved cup 
of bliss ;*' the future comes, and we find the cup 
empty, or sadly adulterated. Our dearest joys, how 
fleeting they are ! 

Our brightest, most beguiling hours, 
How oft embellished bj earth's flowers I 

We place our affections upon some cherished 



IS THIS, THEN, LIFE? 33 

friend, and that friend is taken from us by death ; 
we bestow all the wealth of our affections upon 
some idolized object, and that devotion is unre- 
quited — perhaps held up in derision. 

Life, however, has some sunny spots, but they 
who seek happiness only from the world, find 
but few of them. The gifted Byron, possessed 
of rank and talents by which he swayed at will 
the human heart, and at the waking of whose 
"harp nations heard entranced,*' was most un- 
happy ! 

*'A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing. 
Scorched and desolate and blasted soul, 
A gloomy wilderness of dying thought — 
Repined and groaned and withered from the earth.'* 

The desire felt by every one for bliss which 
cannot be realized on earth, is a sure proof of the 
souPs immortality ; it is vain to endeavor to sate 
its yearnings with terrene pleasures, riches, or 
honors. 

There is but one thing that can satisfy the soul, 
and that is, the restoration of the innocence it 
originally possessed. The purity and consequent 
enjoyment of the soul were lost when man sinned 
against God ; to restore that lost purity and conse- 
quent enjoyment, Christ died on the cross, and if it 

is made a partaker of salvation, it has many fore- 

2* 



34 PROSE AND POETRY. 

tastes of the bliss which awaits it in eternity. And, 
though bowed down by the sorrows of earth, 
the time will come when the ransomed soul, 
perfectly free from care and earth's changes, 
shall be full of happiness in the presence of the 
Lord. That consoling assurance, life ! is the 
cup of bliss reserved to allure my feet heaven- 
ward; to fill my yearning breast with heavenly 
aspirations ! 

In the celestial home there will be no sadness, 
for God himself shall wipe away all tears from 
the eyes of his saints. The wailings of despair 
will there be changed to the triumphant songs 
of praise. All will strike their golden harps to 
notes of sweetest melody; all will be clothed 
in spotless garments; all will bear the conquer- 
ing palm, all wear a victor's crown. 

Therefore, 

** I falter not, for I haye a test 
That shall incite me onward, upward still ; 
The present cannot sate, my soul it shall not filL" 



THE pastor's STORY. 85 



THE PASTOR'S STORY. 

«* He patient Bhowed us the wise course to steer, 
A candid censor and a friend sincere ; 
He taught us bow to live ; and (0 ! too high 
The price of knowledge) taught us how to die." 

In a retired yet delightful location, about 

miles from Charleston, reside Thomas Daniel and 
his amiable wife Edith, in the full enjoyment of 
that serene bliss which the ostentatious scenes of 
the world can never bestow. 

He is the faithful, zealous pastor of an intel- 
ligent and affectionate congregation, to whom he 
ministers every week, in a neat little granite church, 
almost imbedded in fragrant shrubbery. It would 
seem that some pious genii had adapted the spot to 
the purpose, and constituted its occupant the pre- 
siding divinity — so appropriate is it, and so efficient 
is he. 

Each member of its attendance, too, seems 
imbued with a spirit of Christian piety, imparted 
by the same mystic agency, as unobtrusive as 
their place of worship, and as unpretending aa 



86 PBOSEAND POETRY. 

their humble pastor. He is one of those high- 
toned beings with whom we but rarely meet, who 
wants not pretension to give him influence and 
position ; and who wants not wealth, though he 
has it in abundance, to give him preeminence in 
society. He is one of those rare mortals, who, by 
unremitting perseverance in works, has grown in 
grace until invested with a heavenly sublimity 
apparent to every beholder. 

Gifted with extraordinary oratorical powers, 
listening senates might have hung entranced upon 
the eloquence of his tongue, and conferred upon 
him their highest meeds of honor. But he chose 
the better part, which will stay with him when the 
statesman and the orator shall have been stilled in 
death, and when their influence shall, like them, 
have passed away: he chose to serve even as a 
laborer in his Master's vinevard. 

And Edith. Have you seen the full-blown rose 
in its beauty and fragrance ; the most delicate 
hues, the most refined shades trembling on its 
bosom ; the gentlest perfume floating around it, as 
it seemed the spirit of loveliness basking in the 
efl'ulgent rays of eternal sunshine ? Then you 
have seen that which is emblematical of her. 

Matured in womanhood, charitable and hopeful 
in disposition, refined in manners and elevated in 



THE pastor's story. 87 

intellect, the most delicate thoughts and impulses 
animate her beautiful features; whilst she moves 
about the embodiment of loveliness, gently but 
surely exerting an influence conducive to her 
husband's great work; an influence which will 
shine with undiminished brightness when the 
glory of the sun shall have been dimmed. A fit 
companion she for such a man ! 

"We endeavored to learn the history of this 
happy couple — these golden threads in the tissue 
of society, these step-stones to heaven — and found 
it invested with much of romantic interest, as well 
as with religious efficacy. We give it as it was 
given to us : 

Edith Baxter was bequeathed as a dying legacy 
to her maternal grandparents by their beloved 
daughter, bearing the same name ; and never was 
infancy more tenderly cared for, nor childhood 
more judiciously managed. 

At an early age Edith developed traits of char- 
acter gratifying to the fondest wishes of these her 
dearest friends, and which secured for her the love 
and admiration of all with whom she was associated. 

Her father, who, subsequently to the death of 
her mother, had resided much of his time in 
foreign countries, especially in England, sojourned, 
when in America, in the metropolis of his native 



88 PROSE AND POETEY* 

State; and, on every return from a European 
tour, hastened to spend a week, at least, with his 
little daughter in the country. Each returning 
visit more fondly attached the parent to his child, 
and increased the conviction that the duration of 
the absent periods must become shorter. As her 
years increased, so did her resemblance to her 
sainted mother, to whom he was undyingly at- 
tached ; and every look and every gesture which 
reminded him of her, but strengthened the tie 
which bound him to the home of his conjugal 
felicity. 

On one of these joyful occasions, Edith learned 
that her father had brought with him a little 
English boy, an orphan^ consigned by his widowed 
and expiring father to the guardianship of his 
most intimate friend. Major Baxter. 

The magnanimous Carolinian at once determined 
to adopt the unfortunate boy, and give him ad- 
vantages equal to those of his own child. And 
during his first happy interview with his little girl, 
he communicated to her his intentions, begging 
that she would consider him her brother. 

Edith's affectionate heart responded to the 
call, and she unhesitatingly received the juvenile 
foreigner as one entitled to her kindest regards 
and most affectionate sympathy* 



THB pastor's story. 39 

Much as moralizing is denounced when occurring 
in stories, we cau ^but remark what a source of 
gratification to '-^t^ae father must have been this 
happy compliance on the part of his child with his 
benevolent wishes. Had she, jealous of her rights, 
manifested an unwillingness to receive him, how 
pained and embarrassed would he have been ; 
and how soon, perhaps, have regretted, yea, have 
abandoned the generous design ! With no other 
resource or protection, how mortified, too, would 
have been the dependent though noble young 
Englishman ! 

If there is any thing on earth which angels 
contemplate with pleased satisfaction, it is the 
operations of a sympathetic heart, prompting its 
possessor to deeds of philanthropy and love. 
"Were there m^ny such, this world would be a 
paradise, this life a summer day, where no cloud 
enthralled the sky, no Bohon Upas exhaled its 
poisonous odor. Such a world and such a life we 
shall have when the spirits of Faith, Hope, and 
Charity have scattered from their urns the incense 
of pure and holy aspiration. 

With a heart as fresh as the atmosphere of his 
own native clime, and a mind as clear as its 
skies, Thomas was sensible to every act of kind- 
ness by his stranger friends, and grateful and 



40 PROSE AND POETRY. 

enthusiastic in his new attachments, loving his 
kind benefactor with more, if possible, than filial 
devotion, and his little sister i^^ith fraternal ten* 
derness. No efibrt which a refined and grateful 
mind could suggest was spared to promote their 
enjoyment, or to evince to them his readiness to 
be guided by their wishes. 

No wonder that these children, brought together 
under circumstances bearing to each other such 
remarkable similarity, should become warmly 
attached. 

The son of Albion, on the elegant estate of 
Edith's grandfather, equally privileged, enjoying, 
with the companion of his affections, the ap- 
propriate pastimes of childhood, unattended by 
solicitude and apprehension, ceased to remember 
his own classic Avon ; or, if remembering, with not 
more fondness than for the lovely Edisto, along 
whose banks he often wandered in delighted 
admiration. Together with joyous steps the young 
friends brush the crystal dews of morning; 
together engage in the important studies of the 
day ; together raise their silvery voices in evening 
orisons to the Father of mercies. 

When Edith had reached her twelfth and Thomas 
his fifteenth year, they were placed at boarding- 
schools situated in the same city, where they were 



THB pastor's story. 41 

goon distinguished for their application and rapid 
progress : Edith excelling in the course of educa- 
tion usually marked out for woman, and in the 
concomitant accomplishments indispensable to ease 
in the circle for which she was destined ; Thomas 
exhibiting characteristics of that genius and intel- 
lectual superiority which in after-life gave him so 
influential a position. 

Diligent during school months, these youthful 
students hailed with glad buoyancy of spirit the 
liberties of vacation; and returned to the loved 
scenes of home with renewed affection and de- 
light. 

Time, - as it rolled by in its rapid ear, drew 
in closer connection the souls of these passengers 
to eternity ; and they knew no dearer tie in nature 
than the one which united their souls together. 
Alas that so dear a connection, so strong a tie, 
should ever be severed ! The period at length 
came when these friends, so unselfish in their 
every principle — these bona Jide lovers — were to be 
separated. 

General Daniel, having passed many years in 
the Indies, possessed of the handsome sum of 
five hundred thousand dollars, returned to Eng- 
land—the home of his fathers. Not finding an 
only brother, whom he left in , and of whom 



#2 PROSBANi)POBTRY. 

he had heard nothing for a great while, he imme- 
diately instituted a search for him. That brother 
was deceased, but his only child survived. 

This child — the young Thomas — had crossed 
the "Atlantic's blue waves' V with Major Baxter, 
and found a home and friends amid the rural 
scenes of the New World. 

The wealthy Englishman having ascertained his 
address, dispatched a letter to Major Baxter, en- 
closing one to his nephew. These letters repre- 
sented himself a disappointed adventurer, who had 
spent his life in the vain effort to amass a fortune ; 
and now, almost destitute of means, and a con- 
firmed invalid, returned to his native city, from 
which, as a prodigal son, he had wandered in the 
hopeful days of early manhood. 

He implored Thomas, as he valued his proud 
name — a name humbled but by the reverses incident 
to life — to hasten to his relief: to come with a heart 
prepared for any emergency — nerved for any con- 
flict; as he would be to a great extent dependent 
upon his youthful exertions for support. 

This intelligence was received during a visit the 
now betrothed couple, in company with Major 
Baxter, were making in Charleston. And, though 
it very naturally cast a gloom over the minds of 
the devoted trio, each, including himself, felt it 



THE pastor's STORY. 43 

the duty of Thomas ta immediately comply with 
the, what would have appeared to others, selfish 
requisition. 

^'Go," said the self-sacrificing Edith, *' and 
minister to the very utmost of your ability to the 
requirements of your afflicted reU\tive. Whilst he 
lives, think not of returning to your adopted home ; 
but when he shall have yielded to the inexorable 
power of disease, and the grasp of death has set 
his spirit free, come — O, come back to us who love 
you as our own lives, and who will ever cherish 
your image in our hearts enshrined." 

''Go, my son," said Major B., ''the calls of 
humanity are imperative; especially when coming 
from those claiming near consanguinity. Go, and 
by your generous sympathy strew with flowers the 
pathway to the tomb ; and when the cypress shall 
have waved its melancholy blossoms over the 
grave, delay not your return to America — the 
home of your youth — the nativity of your first, and 
Heaven grant, while Edith lives, your only love." 

"Go," said a still small voice, which spoke 
from the inner man, and seldom erred in its dic- 
tates, " go, and however long the term of trial and 
personal sacrifice, however onerous the tasks im- 
posed, faint not in well-doing." 

Thus directed and sustained, Thomas deter- 



44 PROSE AND POETRY. 

mined to leave at once fof the distant shores of 
his native land. Preparatory to which he desired 
to bid farewell to the aged friends who so kindly 
welcomed him to their hospitable abode, and by 
the tenderest attentions taught him to regard them 
as indeed his grandparents. On the hill-top of 
innocent expectation of most brilliant entertain- 
ment, the party entered the city — a new world to 
them, glittering with coruscations of bliss too 
exquisite for realization, too bright for mortal 
vision. With saddened though resigned feelings, 
they departed for the old homestead. 

It has been said that misfortunes and sorrow 
never come singly. Truly, indeed, was the say- 
ing verified in this instance. A few miles from 
Charleston, the chastened travellers espied a horse- 
man in full speed. Approaching nearer, they recog- 
nized the groom of the estate. Apprehension 
simultaneously prepared them for the melancholy 
tidings, thus almost winged to them, of the dan- 
gerous illness of the dear grandmother whom 
they had so recently left in the full prospect of 
many more years of health and usefulness. Alas 
for earthly hopes and prospects! One rude blast 
may destroy the superstructure of years; one 
mighty cloud overshadow the brightest sky; one 
bitter frost chill the heart for life. 



THE pastor's story. 46 

Facilitating their movements, each hoped to 
arrive at home in time to receive her dying 
llessing, but in this too they were disappointed. 

Unable distinctly to articulate, she breathed her 
last farewell to him who had been for many years 
the companion of her life, just a short while before 
they reached home. 

Upon Major Baxter devolved the sad duties of 
the funeral, and in their faithful performance, as 
in every transaction of life — as in the discharge 
of every duty, either public or private, either 
joyous or sad — he showed himself a gentleman of 
the most refined sensibility. 

Edith sorrowed deeply at this her second great 
bereavement, but not as one without hope. 

The pale, expressive face and tearful eyes of 
Thomas plainly told the deep emotion within. 
It would be sacrilege to speak of the deep though 
almost sublime grief of the aged and bereaved 
husband — it was too peculiar, too profound for 
description. 

The day after the interment, Thomas, impelled 
by a sense of duty, ventured to appoint the next 
for his departure. His friends, as endeared as he 
was to them, and much as they regretted the cir- 
cumstances which rendered his going necessary, 
were too considerate to seek in any way to detain 



46 PEOSB AND POETRY. 

him, or 'to imbitter the parting moments by ao 
unavailing demonstration of grief. 

"Walk with me, Thomas, to the church 
grounds,*' said Major B. to his adopted son, 
the last afternoon before his departure for Eng- 
land ; " I have a message to communicate to and 
a gift to bestow on you, invested with sacred 
interest ; and there is no place on earth more 
suitable to witness the deed, than that afforded 
by that consecrated enclosure/* Seated upon the 
stone steps of that little sanctuary, with Thomas 
in anxious, hopeful suspense by his side, he com- 
menced thus: "I should know of no excuse 
sufficiently deprecatory to exculpate me from the 
charge of unkindness, in so long withholding from 
you the revelation I am about to make, but for 
a promise I made your father " 

"A promise made my father!** gasped, rather 
than repeated, the overwhelmed young man. ** O, 
can it be that he left any message for me ? Any 
gift, however small, which may possess talismanic 
virtue to avert the ills of life, which now seem 
pending; and which, notwithstanding the prin- 
ciples of Christian philosophy instilled, I hope, 
into my very being, by the venerable pastor of 
this church, hang over me as a dark cloud, threat- 
ening to crush me by their fall." 



THE pastor's story. 47 

Major B* r<^r:ioved the envelopes one by one from 
a little ivory box, whicli enclosed one of the richest 
of jewel cases. On opening this case, imagine, 
if you can, Thomas's astonishment and delight, 
not, however, without trepidation, at beholding 
a letter bearing his own address, '^ Care of Major 
Baxter, South Carolina." 

He hurriedly opened it, and eagerly glanced 
at the signature. His own father's name, traced 
with a feeble hand, met his eye, and filled him 
with melancholy joy. Long and steadily he 
gazed upon the name, entwined with his very 
existence, and hallowed by the innocent memorien 
of his childhood, as if to learn of it the import 
of that to which it was subscribed. At length 
turning to the beginning, he slowly perused the 
following letter: 

"Mat, 18^. 

"My dear Son: — When this letter shall have 
been given you by the hand of friendship and 
affection, the one which traced it will long since 
have mouldered in the dust, and been numbered 
among the dead. You will doubtless ask, w^hy 
the only memorial of your father has so long been 
withheld from you? If living, provided you 
receive it bc'^ore you attain your majority, Major 



48 PROSE AND POETRY. 

Baxter will answer: 'Because it was your father's 
request : but for this stipulated contingency, had 
I given it to you a day sooner, I had violated 
a sacred trust.* 

" For this request, I will myself account. In 
order to appropriately address you, I must, in 
fancy, transport myself through the dark valley 
of death to the bright mountains of the redeemed, 
and converse with you as from the spirit-land. 

"In consigning your childhood and youth to 
the care of one in every respect entitled to my 
confidence and esteem, 1 felt that any directions 
to him with regard to his subsequent management 
of you were unnecessary. A high-toned, honor- 
able man never proves recreant to a trust — never 
deceives friend or foe. I gave you to him in the 
full confidence that you would be brought up in 
the ways of virtue and peace, and I doubt not 
that such has been his endeavor. 

" To you, my dear son, I simply said : Thomas, 
I bequeathe you to Major Baxter, Extend to him 
the obedience and aifection which would have 
been due me had I lived ; and be grateful and 
tender to him in his declining years. To one 
of your upright principles, I knew this to be 
sufficient to insure the most scrupulous perform 
ance of duty. 



THE pastor's STORY, 49 

"With regard to myself I have but little to 
narrate : suffice it that I am the son of highly re- 
spected parents, a descendant of one of the oldest 
and best families in England. My father designed 
and educated me for the ministry of the gospel, 
but not considering myself worthy so high a 
calling, I disappointed his desire, and chose the 
vocation of lavr. Established in a lucrative pro- 
fession, and winning golden opinions every day, 
although poor, I aspired to the hand and heart 
of a beautiful lady of immense wealth and of 
illustrious birth. She encouraged my advances, 
and, at her suggestion, we were clandestinely 
married. According to her apprehensions, from 
that hour her kindred abandoned and disowned her. 
What mattered that, however? We were all in all 
to each other ; and by my untiring exertions and her 
frugality, we were soon independent of their notice. 

''By and by, you, my son, were given unto us. 
And 0, what a blessed world this then was ! The 
very stars shone brighter, and the atmosphere 
was redolent of joy, as I gazed upon the baby 
face of my darling boy — my miniature self! But 
mysterious indeed is the hand of Providence ! 
The same hour that brought you to my enraptured 
vision, entertained the grim monster Death; and 
gave him as fair a lily as ever opened its pure 



60 PROSE AND POETRY. 

petals to light, to feed upon until swallowed up 
in his insatiate jaws. Day by day I witnessed 
the expansion of the hectic rose, as it bloomed in 
mockery upon her beautiful face, without the 
power to pluck and dash it far away. 

" One long year of intense suffering and patient 
endurance added another conquest to the relentless 
tyrant's power, and another to the catalogue of 
the bereaved. 

" With her head upon my bosom, her emaciated 
hand clasped within mine, I saw her die. I felt 
the death-throe! In an agony of despair, I besought 
God to manifest compassion on me by permitting 
me to die too. I called upon the earth to swallow, 
the rocks to cover me ! In the delirium of my 
grief, I forgot there was a remaining link connect- 
ing me to earth. I forgot you, my son ! The 
recollection of you, of your helpless and dependent 
infancy, came like a sunbeam to my soul, reconcil- 
ing it to its earthly imprisonment, reconciling it to 
the then'sad duties of life. 

In the course of time my grief, though never 
subdued, became less poignant, and I often ex- 
perienced the most grateful rapture in contem- 
plating the physical and mental developments 
of the only pledge of the dearest period of my 
existence. For you, my son — I had not learned 



THE pastor's STORY* 51 

even yet the fallacy of earthly honor — all the 
ambition of my nature was revived. I anticipated 
the time when an admiring world should have culled 
the brightest flowers in the garden of fame, and 
offered them as an oblation at your feet. With 
the eye of affection I beheld your brow enwreathed 
by a garland of rose-buds, destined to expand 
and bloom in heaven with unrivalled splendor 
and sweetness. 

"But the presumption and temerity of man 
seldom go unpunished even in this world. His 
most cherished hopes and objects are those soonest 
destroyed or disappointed. Constitutionally deli- 
cate, the care, which I would not permit shared 
by others, during the affliction of your dear 
mother, laid a sure foundation upon which con- 
sumption again reared its funeral pile. Flattering 
as the disease is, and struggle as I would against 
the conviction, I knew that the work of death 
was going on : I knew that I must soon leave 
you, my noble boy, an orphan in the world. But 
a merciful Father raised up a friend to supply 
my place; that friend you know to be Major 
Baxter, and I repeat that I hope that he has ever 
had and will ever retain the place in your affec- 
tions which would have been mine. 

"In conclusion, there is another duty I would 



62 PROSE AND POETRY* 

impress upon you : you have an uncle, my only 
brother. Than his, a more noble, generous heart 
never throbbed. Too confiding, however, he 
learned, when too late, that all were not, like him- 
self, to be trusted. By the duplicity of others 
having been greatly reduced in a pecuniary point, 
he embarked for the Indies in the hope of making 
up his losses. For several years we maintained 
a regular correspondence, but at length he became, 
if living, too much engaged in the pursuit of 
wealth to devote to absent friends, or his letters 
miscarried. On this account I fear he has been 
unsuccessful, and chooses to exile himself rather 
than to return to his native land without the 
means of sustaining the position to which he was 
once accustomed. Should you ever hear that he 
needs assistance, go directly to him and do all 
in your power to relieve his wants. God will 
reward you, 

"True it is, that 'brevity is the soul of wit,' 
but it is not the soul of afiection. In this, my 
last communication to you, I could have written 
volumes — I could have muliplied endearing 
epithets mountain high, but want of time forbade. 

"Before, however, finishing this already prolix 
epistle, I could not forbear telling you, my beloved 
son, that a change came over the spirit of my 



THE pastor's STORY. 56 

ambition, I would still have had you great, but 
only in a moral and religious sense ; still have had 
you win a name, but only such as Heaven would 
approve. In the spirit of Wesley, Newton, and 
Edwards, seek to make the world better by having 
lived in it; this being done, you will have achieved 
a victory for which Napoleon would have re- 
linquished his blood-stained honors. This being 
done, recording angels will have inscribed your 
name in imperishable characters in the highest 
courts of the New Jerusalem. 

"' Now, my dear son, a long and tender farewell. 
May the Father of the orphan watch over and 
shield you from the ills of life, is the praj^er of 
your dying father, 

''William Daniel. 

" P. S. — In the same box containing this letter, 
you have your mother's bridal present from me. 
Attached is her written desire with regard to its 
destination. Affectionately, W. D." 

The contents of this letter filled the mind of 
Thomas with a pleasing sadness, and gave to it a 
fixed purpose in life, which will be fully realized 
only in eternity. As though he deemed himself 
unworthy to touch an article sanctified by hia 



64 PROSE AND POETRY. 

mother's wear, Thomas hesitated in opening the 
case in which it was concealed. Major B., per- 
ceiving the hesitation, and divining the cause, 
kindly opened the case, and drew forth a neck- 
lace of diamonds of the purest water. Full and 
complete it was save one missing jewel. Turning 
it over, he discovered in small but unmistakable 
characters the initials of his mother's name. And 
upon a tiny sheet of embossed note-paper, neatly 
secured to the valuable relic, were these words : 
" To my dear son I bequeathe this memento of the 
fondest affection, with the desire that he will never 
part with it until he shall have found one dearer 
to him than all the world beside. He then will 
be at liberty to clasp it around her neck, a symbol 
of that love which gently encircles the whole. 
His affectionate mother, Mary Daniel,'* 

After reading it, Thomas enclosed his mother's 
note in his father's letter, and placed them next 
his heart. Too overpowered for conversation, he 
and his friend silently retraced their footsteps 
home. He sought an early opportunity to hand 
the letter to Edith, with a request that she would 
read it and then meet him in the verandah. 

The meeting of these lovers on this memorable 
occasion, we forbear to describe ; suffice it, that it 
was long and tender And before they separated, 



THE pastor's STORY. S5 

Thomas clasped the necklace, but now, as it were, 
the gift of his mother, round the neck of Edith. 

She fully understood the import so delicately 
implied; yea, more, she understood the refined 
nature which appreciated a look far more than 
the most enthusiastic expressions, and forebore the 
utterance of thanks. Her beautiful face, radiant 
with love and gratitude, plainly evinced that which 
language were impotent to convey. 

The parting struggle was experienced that night. 
And a resignation to duty so calm and so unim- 
passioned succeeded, that he who looks merely at 
the surface of things, would never have suspected 
the mighty conflict beneath. Or, rather, he who is 
incapable of such moral triumphs over the passions 
and sensibilities of his nature, would have thought 
them too stoical for lovers. 

At a very early hour next morning, Thomas, 
accompanied by Edith and her father, was on his 
way to Charleston, whence he expected to embark 
the succeeding day for England. 

In an eloquence intelligible only to the soul, the 
farewell was expressed, and Thomas went aboard 
an elegant vessel bound for Albion^s shores. With 
a disposition which -could adapt itself to circum- 
stances, and conform with composure to the re- 
quirements of occasions, he soon appeared one of 



56 PROSE AND POETRY. 

the most contented passengers, and did much to 
contribute to the entertainment of the voyage. 

Day after day, and night after night, as the 
magnificent ship moved on its way, Thomas paced 
the deck wrapped in devout meditation. His whole 
being was filled with love and admiration for Ilim 
who, in the omnipotence of his power, holds the 
winds in his fists, and the seas in the hollow of his 
hands; and, without any positive religious ex- 
perience, he would fall upon his knees and pour 
out his soul in supplication to Him who *' walked 
on the waters.'* Thomas's lofty soul aspired to 
communion with this great Being, and he deter- 
mined to hesitate no longer in making known his 
wants. Many beautiful passages of the Holy 
Scriptures suggested the way, and encouraged him 
to seek after that higher good, that purer joy, that 
loftier love for which his religious instincts kept 
longing. As a little child he cried, Lord^ save, or I 
perish ! This was the way and the only way to be 
healed with that balm which grew by the pure 
waters of Gilead. A beautiful evangelical faith 
filled his heart with praise and thanksgiving to the 
dear Saviour, who had often extended to him a 
sustaining influence. 

Thomas was a Christian! O how he longed to 
tell Edith of this great work in his heart ! O ho\\ 



THE pastor's story. 5T 

he longed that the world might be encompassed 
by this wondrous love ! 

After an auspicious and delightful voyage, the 
vessel anchored at . 

"With a heart fortified by manly resolve and 
Christian purpose, Thomas stepped ashore. The 
clear depths of his dark eyes betrayed to every 
beholder this resolve — this purpose. And none 
could look, even casually, into his earnest, thought- 
ful face, without being impressed with the superi- 
ority of the indwelling spirit. 

Inclination, as well as a sense of duty, urged 
him to delay no time in going to the city of his 
uncle's abode. Arrived there, he at once went in 
search of him. Aided by the direction? enclosed 
in the letter received in America, he soon found 
the humble dwelling* With a composed and 
determined step he approached the door. Gently 
rapping, he received as response an invitation to 
'^come in." Thomas's feelings and emotions, 
upon entering that poor and unfinished apartment, 
wer^ better imagined than described. 

Upon a scaffold bedstead, upon which was only 
a thin mattress, lay the once proud form of Gen- 
eral Daniel. A moment sufficed to establish in 
the mind of the nephew the identity of the uncle. 
The resemblance to his father, whom he remem- 



3* 



68 PROSEANDPOETRT. 

bered well, was too apparent to be imaginary. 
He was overwhelmed by a thousand thoughts, and 
in a moment of uncontrolled feelings he rushed to 
his side and clasped his astonished uncle in his 
arms. "My uncle!" "My nephew!" were the 
proud exclamations of these stranger relatives. 
Though apparently reduced to penury, Thomas 
saw in the eye, and curve of the thin lip, unmis- 
takable indications of the souFs nobility. And 
but for a certain undefinable something in his 
manner, which he could not reconcile to this 
nobility, he would have gloried to call him uncle — 
gloried to minister to his adverse situation. Were 
it prudent, time would not allow us to repeat the 
affectionate conversation which ensued; before it 
ended, however. General D. was satisfied that his 
brother*s son was not ashamed of the relation- 
Bhip, and that his highest pleasure would be to 
serve him. 

Though too much interested to think of dinner 
on his own account, Thomas knew that his uncle 
needed refreshment, and he was anxious to pro- 
cure it. Owing to the generous supply his Ameri- 
can friend, Major B., had slipped into his hand as 
he bade him farewell, he yet had ample means 
for many weeks* support. But how to go about 
providing for the present occasion, especially 



THE pastor's STORY. 59 

when so refined a person was the object of it, he 
was at a loss to devise. 

Apprehending the cause of embarrassment, Gen- 
eral D. asked his nephew to place the little table 
which stood in the corner, by his bedside. Hav- 
ing complied, his uncle removed a coarse but 
snow-white covering, and, to his gratification, 
he beheld, if not the most choice articles of food 
for an invalid, those which were quite suitable. 
Perceiving there was an abundance, he did not hesi- 
tate to share the humble meal. Humble as it was, 
th^ host, however, went through with all the for- 
malities of a courtly entertainment, and before they 
had finished the repast, his nephew was convinced 
in his own mind that he was either a monomaniac, 
or a proud man of the world, who rebelled against 
the decrees of Providence. 

In the course of the afternoon, General D. 
informed Thomas that he had some important 
business to which he wished him to immediately 
attend, as the delay of even a few hours might be 
attended with disadvantage. Ready to perform 
any duty, and anxious to obtain if possible a clue 
to his uncle's state of mind, he received a bundle 
of papers, with verbal instructions as to the 
locality of those with whom the business apper- 
tained. 



60 PROSE. ANDPOETRY, 

"This being accomplislied," said General D., 
** the afternoon will be nearly spent ; but howevei 
late, I then want you to go a little way up the 
river and call at the elegant mansion of General 
Daniel, and deliver into his own hands this letter. 
Do not ask directions — you cannot fail to find the 
place." 

Thomas complied with his uncle's desires to the 
letter. Having finished arrangements with the 
attorneys, he proceeded to the elegant mansion on 
the borders of the Avon. To the servant who an- 
swered his ring he handed his card, with a request 
to see the master immediately on urgent business. 
The servant soon returned with a kind invitation 
to him to go to the chamber of the General, as he 
was too indisposed to see him elsewhere. 

Ushered into one of the most princely apart- 
ments, imagine the surprise of Thomas as he 
beheld, clad in purple and fine linen, the very same 
uncle whom he had but so recently left in one of 
the most obscure domiciles in the city. He could 
scarcely credit his own senses, so mysterious did 
every thing appear. General D., feeling that it 
would be unkind to keep him longer in suspense, 
extended to him his hand, with but these words, 
''My nephew!" Words which sent a thrill of 
joy to his heart but that very morning, now fell upon 



THE pastor's STORY. 61 

his ears without inspiring a single emotion of plea- 
sure. Quick as thought he comprehended all. 
His uncle was very rich, and had resorted to this 
expedient to force him from his friends in Ame- 
rica — to recall him to England. He was disap- 
pointed, almost vexed. General Daniel, perceiv- 
ing this, rendered satisfactory reasons for the 
"innocent hoax." Returning to his native home 
with wealth that would, have satisfied the most 
avaricious, and having no heir upon whom to be- 
stow it, he resolved to adopt his only nephew, 
whom he had never seen, to inherit his magni- 
ficent estates. In order to convince himself that 
this nephew was deserving his generosity, he con- 
ceived the plot to deceive him, and see how he 
yielded compliance to his requests. In one respect 
he did not deceive : he was indeed in rapidly de- 
clining health. And, as a dutiful and affectionate 
relative, Thomas ministered to the comfort and 
enjoyment of his last days. 

A few months of unremitting suffering com- 
pleted its work ; and he who had spent his life in 
the acquisition of wealth and worldly honors, dis- 
covered, when too late, that they could avail no- 
thing in the hour of death. Notwithstanding the 
praj^ers and entreaties of his pious nephew, this 
man of the world died as he had lived, unmindful 
of his soul's salvation. 



62 PROSE AND POETRY. 

WTien Thomas had discharged the last sad 
duties to his only uncle and known relative, he 
fully realized that he was a stranger among stran- 
gers ; and his heart instinctively turned with all 
its yearnings to his home and friends in America. 

He immediately wrote to Major Baxter and to 
Edith, informing them of the melancholy though 
expected event, and for the first time made 
known to them the "hoax/' Judging them by the 
majority of persons, he had erroneously supposed 
that upon discovering that his uncle needed not 
his assistance, they would think he ought to 
return to his adopted home, and he had avoided 
alluding to his situation ; and had even retained, 
with the warmest expression of thanks, several 
considerable sums of money, remitted to him by 
his dear friend "across the waters." 

Strange, unaccountably strange, to Thomas, 
month after month elapsed, and no answer came 
to either of these letters. He never for a moment 
questioned the fidelity of his friends. O no I he 
knew them too well for that. In the agony of sus- 
pense, he determined to sail without delay for 
America. But, then, although sole heir, his 
deceased uncle's business had to be adjusted ac- 
cording to law, and it was indispensable that he 
should give it his personal attention. 

Besides this important reason for remaining 



THE pastor's STORY. 63 

iwliile ill England, there was yet another, which, 
though he himself could scarcely explain, was 
even more controlling. While yet in doubt with 
regard to the cause of his not receiving answers 
from his Carolina friends, an impression, border- 
ing on certainty, existed in his mind that some- 
thing stranger, more gratifying perhaps than any 
thing preceding it, awaited him, and prevented 
him from carrying out his premature determination 
to leave. 

Many a starlit evening he wandered alone on 
the classic shores of the grand old river winding 
by his beautiful home, absorbed in earnest thought 
or religious meditation : thought inspired by 
the enchanting solitude and mystic melodies of 
the majestic old trees, standing like sentinels to 
guard ancestral inheritance, around the princely 
mansion ; and the peculiar plaintive song of the 
boatmen, as it told its tale of love. Memory, too, 
was often at work, and by its magic power he 
lived over again the loved season spent with 
Edith in a distant land. Each glance of her ceru- 
lean eyes beamed upon him with the same tender 
fervor; each softened intonation of her musical 
voice was borne on the fragrant zephyrs, and 
vibrated upon the harp-strings of his soul. He 
saw her point to heaven, and bid him hope. And 



/ 

64 PROSE AND POETRY. 

that same beautiful faith, which sprang up m hii 
soul on his voyage hither, dispelled all depressing 
forebodings, and inspired his tongue with songs of 
praise and rejoicing. 

In one of his solitary rambles, Thomas observed 
at a distance a stately form, which at once riveted 
his eye. Advancing nearer, he beheld the com- 
manding figure of an aged gentleman, whose 
appearance united the nobility of nature with the 
aristocrat of society. Admiration and reverence 
at once took possession of him, and he involuntarily 
raised his hat until he passed him. The interest 
was mutual. 

There is something truly inexplicable in the 
affinity which kindred spirits bear to each other. 
Thomas felt that he had seen his own prototype, 
and with a sort of enthusiastic impatience he 
wanted to see more of it. Day after day ho 
wandered in the same direction, with no other 
(that was enough) motive than that of meeting 
this mysterious personage. He had a sort of 
vague, superstitious idea, despite his better know- 
ledge, that there was something more than human- 
ity associated with him, and that there was an 
invisible link connecting their beings, and he 
longed most ardently for its discovery. 

Each recurrence of these meetings more fully 



THE pastor's story. 65 

established in the minds of each of these persons 
that there was a magnetizing principle implanted 
within which could not resist its kindred influence. 
On an early occasion they met. Through the eye 
their souls went forth, and in one long embrace 
united never more to separate — Thomas's and his 
grandfather's, With thanksgiving, such as the 
angel bands of heaven might stoop to hear, these 
rejoicing spirits made the woods resound. '' Praise 
God, O my soul ! for this happy day, this glorious 
privilege ! 0, my daughter ! whose sacred name 
I am not worthy to call ! thou whom I so un- 
justly discarded from all the loved endearments of 
mother and home ! look down from thy bright 
habitation in heaven, and see how entirely my 
heart bows in humble supplication to thee for 
forgiveness ! And hear my solemn vow to atone, 
to the very extent of my ability, to the son for the 
mother's wrongs." 

Such, and the like, were the contrite exclama- 
tions of that once inexorable old gentleman, w^ho 
had in earlier life made all the tender impulses of 
the heart but secondary considerations ; who had 
made every principle of his nature — and there were 
many of an excellent character — subserve the arbi- 
trary conventionalities of the sphere in which he 
was born and brought up. Thomas's rejoicing 



66 PROSEANDPOETRY. 

was similar to that of his grandfather, varied only 
by years and circumstances. 

By the earliest mail he dispatched other letters 
to Edith and her father, containing a full account 
of this happy interview. He implored her to 
delay not an answer, as every thing earthly was as 
nothing compared with his all-absorbing love for 
her. He told her that without the hope of her 
pious example through life, without her gentle 
guidance through the dangerous vortex of wealth, 
he feared he would be engulfed in its dark waters. 
He told her how he had already conceived the 
idea of endowing a religious and literary institu* 
tion, and begged her advice and cooperation. 

Again months passed, and no reply rewarded 
his fidelity. Again he determined to embark foi 
America. To his aged grandfather he confided the 
history of his love, and his reasons for desiring to 
leave England at this important crisis ; and, to 
his gratification, the old gentleman approved his 
course. 

The afternoon preceding his contemplated de- 
parture, as strolling pensively, he scarcely knew 
whither, he came in the vicinity of an establish- 
ment of choice jewelry. As if grateful to that 
chance which had directed his steps hither, he 
entered, determined to make a selection of a plain 



THE pastor's STOBY. 67 

but valuable ring which he intended presenting to 
Edith. 

Having made the selection, Thomas had turned 
to leave, when the salesman, anxious to secure 
the patronage of one evidently able to afford it, 
begged that he would examine a case of antique 
though magnificent diamonds. Leisure allowing, 
courtesy prompted him to grant the request. Ad- 
miringly he examined several articles, which, from 
their antiquated style, appeared relics indeed. But, 
heavens ! what was his consternation when he 
beheld the very same necklace he had clasped 
round Edith's neck the night preceding his depart- 
ure from America ! He could not be mistaken ; 
there it was, with one diamond missing, and his mother* s 
initials! His frame shook as in an ague fit; his 
head reeled as if intoxicated, and he was obliged 
to cling to a column near by for support. But a 
few moments were lost in this way : he seized the 
necklace, and peremptorily demanded its price and 
the manner in which it was obtained. The polite 
and gentlemanly salesman, understanding the heart- 
workings which had thus thrown his noble visitor 
off his guard, gave him a correct account of his 
purchase of the article hallowed by the strongest 
ties in nature. The account, however, furnished 
Thomas no clue to the real state of affairs, but 



68 PROSEANDPOETRY. 

rather supplied grounds for the most heart-rending 
suspicion. 

That Edith was in England he doubted not ; but 
under what circumstances, conjecture failed to 
furnish one that was satisfactory. He resolved to 
lose no time in efforts of discovery. Every hotel 
and boarding-house in the city he daily visited ; 
every place of public amusement and entertain- 
ment he attended, in hope of seeing the idol of 
his affections. 

Just as hope had well-nigh ceased to animate 
his exertions, an incident of a most thrilling char- 
acter occurred in the near vicinity of his residence ; 
an incident which enlisted his sympathy and 
interest, and again stimulated him to action. 

An aged man, who, though in very indigent 
circumstances, had by numerous little offices of 
kindness and accommodation endeared himself to 
a large circle of acquaintances, was, in the still- 
ness of darkness, broken in upon by several of a 
banditti which had for months infested the 
countr}^ with defiant boldness, and gagged and 
bpund so as to be unable to oppose them. Whilst 
the father was thus incapacitated, these men of 
sin noiselessly proceeded to the room occupied by 
his two daughters. Sleeping until too late for 
Inflective resistance, these unoffending females, 



THE pastor's STORY. 69 

who, save on errands of usefulness, seldom went 
bevond their father^s humble enclosure, were 
securely fettered and also gagged ; then forced 
from the house and placed each upon an elegant 
horse, destined, by the sad perversion of the use- 
ful, to carry two persons as unlike as midnight 
and noonday — an ambassador of darkness and a 
spirit of light. So it is with life : the vile and the 
pure how often, alas ! closely drawn together. 

Thus mounted, these terrified maidens, the 
younger of whom was just verging into woman- 
hood, were hurried they knew not whither. Just 
as day — a day that brought no light to them — was 
dawning, they were mockingly ushered into a 
capacious but unfurnished drawing-room of what 
appeared to them an untenanted old castle, and 
begged in the same mocking manner to feel per- 
fectly at ease in their new abode, notwithstanding 
the contrast to the one from .which they came. 
In a few moments they were conducted with much 
ceremony to a private apartment, which already 
contained as pure an occupant as ever graced 
courtly hall or princely saloon, and bade to hold 
themselves in readiness for further orders. Brought 
together under circumstances so mysterious and 
humiliating, these unfortunate girls were not long 
in learning each other's history; and, notwith- 



70 PROSEANDPOETRY. 

standing the uncertainty of their own fate, the 
sisters seemed to forget their situation, so great 
was their commiseration for the gentle creature 
who had previously been abducted and forced into 
this rendezvous of iniquity. 

As "the darkest day has gleams of light,** so 
even this dark place was not without its aperture 
through which feebly gleamed a ray of hope. 

Unacquainted with the world, and allured by the 
most plausible and seductive promises, a young 
man of some very excellent qualities, with his 
little patrimony in his pocket, had been induced 
to unite his interest with that of these " specu- 
lators,*' many of whom mingled as gentlemen in a 
respectable (?) class of the community; and not 
until too late to rescue his all from their nefarious 
covetousness, did he discover the nature of their 
"speculations:** how, with a long catalogue of 
the most fearful transgressions, they combined 
that of abducting innocent females and retaining 
them in captivity until rewards satisfying their 
cupidity were oifared. Then some of the band, 
who, disguised in the garb of gentlemen, walked the 
.streets every day, eager to obtain the prize, soon, 
despite *^ opposition,** and oftentimes "bloodshed,* 
boie the captives in triumph to their rejoicing 
friends All this he discovered, and he resolved, 



THE PASTOR'S STORY. tl 

thongli his life should pay the forfeit, to expose 
the villainy; in order to do which, and to safely 
effect his escape, he had to seem as one of 
them, taking care not to participate in actual 
crime. 

Just as he had matured plans by which to 
prosecute his intentions, the first of these fair 
captives was brought hither. He then abandoned 
all thought of leaving as long as she remained in 
this gloomy imprisonment; and to mitigate her 
sufferings, to screen her as much as possible from., 
insult, and to inspire her with hope and cheerful- 
ness, was his constant care. Without the certainty 
of her release, too, freedom, even from this odious 
'place, could not have been given him. To add to 
his solicitude and care, the other two were brought 
and likewise confined. Decision wavered n^ 
longer. Advising the girls of his plans, anr< 
begging them to feign entire ignorance of him 
should they be interrogated, he went to those o^ 
the conspirators who were there, and told ther>^ 
that their ''Captain" had left orders with him to 

be at precisely at one o'clock that night. So 

ingeniously did this young man fabricate his stor\, 
that even these bad men yielded ready credence. 
and offered no objection to the proposed excursion. 
Mounting one of their fleetest horses, he put off 



72 PROSE AND POETRY. 

at a rapid rate in the direction designated ; but as 
fioon as out of sight, he, by a circuitous way, reversed 
his course, and lost no time in getting to . 

A few miles from the town, by the light of a 
brilliant moon, he perceived at a considerable 
distance a man on horseback. Deeming caution 
the best policy, he immediately slackened his pace, 
with the view of passing the stranger in a com- 
posed and unsuspicious manner. The gentleman 
advancing chanced to be none other than our 
young friend, Thomas : impelled by a restless 
anxiety and an unaccountable foreboding that 
something would soon transpire which would 
lead to the discovery of Edith's whereabouts, he 
had gone forth this memorable night. 

The strangers were about passing in silence, but 
a mutual gaze, as inquiring as intent, caused 
each to halt. By a polite salutation, which at once 
inspired confidence, our young hero broke the 
silence. A tew moments of almost whispered con- 
versation ensued, in which Thomas w^as brought 
acquainted with the young man's object, and he 
at once enlisted his services. Together they sped 
to the town, ana cautiously making known their 
wants, but a snort time sufficed to raise a little 
army of weu-equipped men. ready to spill their 
life's-blood in a lust cause. 



THE PASTOR'S STORY. 73 

On, on they sped until within hearing distance 
of the old castle, destined soon to be the scene 
both of bloodshed and joy. Dismounting, they 
secured their horses, and on foot cautiously pro- 
ceeded to the old building. The " Captain'' 
having prematurely returned, had heard the story 
of the young man's departure, and, filled with 
torturing apprehensions known only to the guilty, 
had already given orders for a speedy removal. 
The bloody conflict which ensued we would not 
describe; enough that those in the right tri- 
umphed. 

Thomas's heart now throbbed with joy, as the 
thought occurred to him that two of the young 
ladies here imprisoned might be the two so 
cruelly torn from their father in his own city. 
To one as sanguine as he, the hope amounted to 
certainty ; and he wondered that he had not 
thought of it before. He preceded rather than 
followed his brave young conductor to the apart- 
ment of the almost frantic girls. In the very 
agony of fear, lest he who had imperilled his life 
that theirs might be rescued had fallen m the 
contest, they had safiered as much mentally as 
those who had physically sufiered. 

On opening the door, Thomas, almost paralyzed 



74 PROSE AND POETEY. 

With amazement, beheld a face the dearest on 
earth! He had never seen but one like it — he 
could never see another. "Was it an apparition 
that he saw ? No ! it was flesh and blood ! It 
was his own loved Edith ! 

From a description of the scene which followed 
our pen would shrink indeed; before it ended, 
however, Thomas had again clasped his mother's 
necklace round the neck of the astonished and 
happy Edith, with a vow never to leave her ex- 
posed. 

The morning's dawn found the heterogeneous 
party on their way home. The gratitude of the 
old man upon the restoration of his daughters 
was indescribable. And the heroic young man, 
so instrumental in the release of these young 
ladies, sought and won the hand and heart of the 
younger sister. 

At as early a period as practicable, Edith and 
Thomas were united in the indissoluble bonds 
of wedlock. 0, what a noble spirit was his ! No 
suspicions of the propriety of her course caused 
him to delay the fulfilment of a sacred promise ; 
no elucidation of mysteries was necessary. She 
loved him ; had followed him across the briny 
deei3 ; and not until the solemn vows had been 



THE PASTORSSTORY. 75 

breathed, did he learn from his loving wife the 
full extent of her trials and troubles. How, after 
the deaths of her grandfather and father, she had 
resolved to go to England, for the purpose of 
learning, if possible, the reasons for his unexpected 
course : both his and her letters had been intercepted 
by a bribed postmaster. How, accompanying some 

friends who wei% going there, she arrived at ; 

and, had she been guided by the impulses of 
her own fond attachment, and acquainted him 
through the mail of her arrival in his city, she 
might have been spared the humiliating ordeal 
through which she had passed. How her friends, 
not knowing as she did the magnanimity of his 
nature, fearing he had forgotten his love for her,, 
and was even then, perhaps, the husband of some 
more fortunate lady, opposed this course. How 
she, in the hope of discovering something con- 
cerning him, had gone forth alone when her 
friends thought her safe within her own room. 
How, in one of these solitary rambles, she was 
seized by a ruffian's hand and drawn into a build- 
ing of good appearance ; then violently robbed 
of her necklace ; and then retained in the closest 
custody until that period most loved by those 
whose deeds are evil, when she was hurried by 



16 PEOSEANDPOETKY. 

the same conscienceless person to the retreat where 
she was so happily found. 

With something more than earthly interest 
Thomas regarded his beautifal young wife, as 
she recounted the troubles and sufferings which 
her love for him had occasioned. And he felt 
just as such a man as he could feel, that a life's 
devotion were incompetent to repay such heaven- 
born fidelity. 

In revie^ving the history of his life, he read in 
characters too legible to be mistaken, the hand- 
writing of God ; and with a heart surcharged with 
love and thankfulness, he bowed, he and his Chris- 
tian wife, in one long, heartfelt prayer to the Great 
Author of so many blessings. 

Thomas told Edith that he was solemnly im- 
pressed with the conviction that it was his duty 
to preach the gospel : to preach Christ and him 
crucified to a dying people; and in order to do 
which, so as not to bring reproach upon the cause, 
he must pursue a theological coarse of study. 
This was the fondest desire of her soul, and she 
did all she could to facilitate this great and 
responsible undertaking. 

Three years after entering one of the best 
theological institutes in Europe, Thomas was an 



THB PASTOR'S STORY. Tl 

ordained minister of the gospel. The field he 
chose for his labors was the home of his youth. 
The church he supplied with a pastor was the 
neat little granite edifice, almost imbedded in 
fragrant shrubbery, about miles from Charles- 
ton. 



78 PBOSBANDPOBTRy. 



LINES TO A YOUNG LADY. 



Affectionately addressed to a young lady on tKe receipt of h 
beautiful souvenir — a rich purse, wrought by her hands, and pre- 
sented to the writer. 



Thanks for the beauteous gift, sweet girl, thy 

tasteful skill hath twined, 
And brilliant though its meshes be as brightly 

there enshrined ; 
Through future years will memories dwell of 

these our happy hours, 
As the fled summer^s glory lives in one rich 

wreath of flowers. 

And as thy love-lit years glide on, be each glad 

hour enwreathed 
Into a tissue sparkling bright as this thy hand 

hath weaved : 



LINES TO A YOUNG LADY. 79 

Like to that dial florists frame,* still may the 

laughing hours 
Be marked by thee but by the bloom of joy's fresh 

op'iiing flowers. 



^ Linnaeus formed a dial of flowers, whose successive openings 
and closings marked the hours. 



80 PROSE AND POETRY. 



THE ROBIN. 

1 HEARD a soft and sweet-toned note, 

Which rose and swelled from distant tree : 

A robin from his magic throat, 

There perched and sung his song for me. 

" The cold winds came, and where went he ? 

Away, where summer wings did rove ; 
Where buds were fresh, and ev'ry tree 

Was vocal with the notes of love/* 

Kow green shrubs edge our forest walks. 
And blushing are our sweet-wood flowers ; 

Snowballs hang on their slender stalks, 
Kissed by dew in softest showers. 

Come are Spring's bright sunny bowers. 
Come Spring's encircling, tender vines ; 

And Winter, with his dismal hours, 
On Kenesaw no longer pines. 



THE EOBIN. 81 

Then come, come, to this mild sky, 
So fresh the blooms that scent the air; 

The vernal winds are passing by, 
And scattering buds and leaves so fair. 

Yes, come again, my own dear bird, 

To this warm clime; haste — speed thy flight! 

Kiss with the sun the evening's cheek, 
And stay with me the long, long night. 

Warble that wildwood note again. 
And I will read and list the while ; 

Its tones will soon my soul enchain. 
And all my pensive hours beguile. 



4* 



82 PKOSE AND POETRY. 



FULL MANY A FLOWER. 

** Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfatliomed caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

Geay's Eleqt. 

Presumptuous as it may appear as an introduc- 
tion to the remarks I have to inflict upon the 
hearing of those who honor this occasion by their 
presence, I have stolen the diamond from a string 
of pearls, strung by one whose heart, " once preg- 
nant with celestial fire," felt as few men have ever 
felt ; and who from one of the highest summits of 
that Pisgah which overlooks the fair Canaan of 
poesy, plucked flowerets pendant from Heaven's 
festoons, and received inspiration from ethereal- 
ized spirits, which enabled him ^Ho wield the 
elements,'* and to sound the depths of the human 
heart, raising and stilling its passions at his bid- 
ding; and I humbly hope that a gleam of its 
effulgent lustre may illuminate my otherwise dull 
and uninteresting composition. 



FULL MANY A FLOWER. 83 

"We are not informed that wlien God created 
the world, he did not decorate every portion of it 
alike beautiful ; but we are authorized by his 
word to believe, that if any spot received his 
peculiar consideration, that spot was the Garden 
of Eden. 

There luxuriated in rich variety all the beauties 
of nature, which have elicited the admiration and 
engaged the attention of all succeeding ages. 
There the rose, acknowledged queen of flowers, 
and the lily, fit emblem of maiden purity, grew 
spontaneous, independent of mortal culture. There 
the lowly violet and the humble little forget-me-not 
commanded the same attention as did the proud 
and majestic magnolia, loftily waving its ex- 
pansive foliage in the pure atmosphere of heaven. 
But when we turn from that consecrated enclosure, 
that favored spot of Divine love, all is conjecture 
and supposition. 

Whether the Creator of the universe, and all 
pertaining to it, distributed alike over the surface 
of the earth these beautiful manifestations of his 
generosity; or whether it was reserved for man, 
after his dispersion, and "the fowls of the air'' 
on their migratory tours, to transplant them in 
other climes, has often been a subject of specu- 
lation. 



84 PROSE AND POETRY. 

The happiest conclusion is, that when God said, 
^^Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding 
seed, and the fruit-tree yielding fruit,'' no section of 
the world was more propitiously regarded than 
another. Doubtless, the most sequestered nooks 
and the most obscure places were then beautified 
and embellished by the prettiest of flowers; and 
who will dare to think that those flowers were 

** Born to blush unseen, 
And waste their sweetness on the desert air ?" 

Have not the angels eyes? And did not they 
look down from their happy homes in heaven, and 
unite in anthems of praise for what the Great Dis- 
penser of all good had done for them ? 

Did not the golden stars and the silvery moon 
lend rays of effulgence to their variegated petals ; 
and the sun, the king of light, reflect their rain- 
bow tints ? 

God was glorified where the foot of man had 
never trod ! 

Go now, who will, to the rich conservatories of 
the opulent, where affluence and science, two all- 
powerful agencies, conspire to change even the 
order of nature; where, by congregating exotics 
the very antipodes of each other, anomalies are 
produced which seem very like burlesques on the 



FULL MANY A FLOWER. 85 

original design; pluck from their offerings the 
most choice flower, carry it to the gay saloons of 
pleasure, and bid the votaries of fashion go into 
ecstasies over its beauty and fragrance ! Yes, bid 
them ! For it sends no voluntary thrill of delight 
to the heart — arouses no dormant emotions of love 
and gratitude, which irresistibly elicit an out- 
burst of unaffected joy and admiration ! 

Hand in hand with Flora, I will hie to the 
mountain's brow, or to the valley's bosom, and cull 
a bouquet of the sweetest blossoms, unadulterated 
by the hand of culture, and take them to the bed- 
side of the sick, or the room of the oppressed ! 
Mark that smile — sweet though melancholy ! And 
that teardrop ! Whence does it flow ? From a 
heart whose fondest recollections clust^ around 
the past ; and whose hopes for the future nestle at 
the foot of Calvary ! 

That little oflering of friendship, that simple 
nosegay of the wildwood, has awakened thoughts 
of childhood's days ; parents and friends long incar- 
cerated in the house of silence are resuscitated by 
their magic influence, and are gently hovering 
round, tenderly discharging the oflices of friend- 
ship and love. Attachments of more mature 
years are revived, and exist again in all the fer- 
vency of affectionate regard! The heart, disap- 



86 PROSE AND POETRY. 

pointed in its earthly calculations, turns to heaven, 
lihat mighty emporium of happiness, where parents 
and children are reiinited, and friends found in 
whom there is no decay or shadow of change ! 
Have those sweet wildwood flowers wasted their 
sweetness on the desert air ? 

Methinks I see a courageous adventurer wend- 
ing his way through a narrow defile of the Rocky 
Mountains. He endeavors to banish all thoughts 
of home, lest perchance they should restrain his 
enterprising footsteps ! With forced cheerfulness 
he whistles a merry air, which fell upon his ear in 
the joyous parterre^ or in the hilarious hall of the 
voluptuous and rich. He avoids such as Some, 
Sweet Home : it may be that he fears their plaintive 
melody will shake the determination to pursue his 
journey. 

Look ! what a change ! That self-defying man ia 
ashy pale ! even on his cheek the teardrop glistens 1 
Ah ! his eyes, in constant search of the beautiful, 
have fallen on an humble little flower, the same 
in appearance that she, the object of his early 
love, the plighted partner of his earthly destiny, 
had given him as emblematical of her devotion 
and fldelity. All the tender though slumbering 
emotions of man's mighty heart are aroused and 
operated upon. A Fremont is again locked in the 



FULL MANY A FLOWER. 87 

fond embrace of affectionate regard ; wife and 
children cluster about, and, vinelike, twine their 
arms round him, the oak of that little grove ! 

"Will he refuse to shelter them from the scorch- 
mg rays of summer, or from the chilling winds of 
winter ? Will he neglect propping those frail twigs, 
dependent in a measure upon him for the impress 
the tree shall bear ? He has done so ! A spirit of 
adventure, an ambition for worldly renown, has 
induced him to consign that precious little group 
to the care of those comparatively disinterested; 
and to relinquish all the fond endearments of wife, 
home, and friends ! Hence he weeps on seeing 
that mountain flower — that memento of happier 
times ! Has that flower wasted its sweetness upon 
the desert air ? 

I will now ascend from Flora's kingdom to that 
which embraces man, and endeavor to exhibit the 
beautiful analogy. 

So much depends upon mental culture in the 
development of moral and intellectual flowers, 
that no pains or expense should be spared to 
promote its general diffusion. Lamentable in* 
deed is the reflection that in many a " neglected 
spot'' exist all the 

" Elements to sway an empire 
Or wak« to ecstasy the living lyre." 



88 PEOSE AND POETRY. 

"But knowledge to their eyes lier ample page, 

Rich with tjie spoils of Time, has ne'er unrolled ; 
Penury represses their noble rage, 

And freezes the genial bent of the soul." 

There are some flowers, however, belonging to 
this kingdom not indigenous to any clime, nor are 
they entirely dependent on culture for develop- 
ment. Those are the flowers of the heart — an 
amiable and gentle disposition, a kind and forgiv- 
ing spirit. 

Such ofierings are infinitely more acceptable to 
God than the dazzling treasures of Golconda's 
mines, or the intellectual oblations from the hill 
of science ! Humble though they be, no spot, 
however obscure, can conceal such excellence ! A 
mother on whose brow ''the traces of sorrow may 
be found," or a father whose " footsteps are now 
feeble and slow," may feel their heavenly influ- 
ence, and thank their merciful Father for such 
angel gifts. Is such sweetness wasted on the desert 
air ? 

He who, though gifted with all that renders life 
attractive — parents who watched with tender soli- 
citude over the period of helpless infancy, and 
whose affection diminisheth not in later years ; 
brothers and sisters who shared alike each joy 
and each woe, and around the same knee learned 
to lisp, ^^Owr Father^ who art in heaven'' — impressed 



FULL MANY A FLOWER. 89 

by the powerful obligation he is under to " work 
the work of Him that sent him while it is day, for 
the night cometh, wherein no man can work," and 
leaves the valued associations of childhood, youth, 
and early manhood, and devotes himself phy- 
sically and mentally to leading out of Egyptian 
darkness the poor benighted heathen, seems to 
bury his talents — seems to waste his sweetness upon 
the desert air. But when his head shall have re- 
ceived " a crown of righteousness, brightened by 
the acclamations of praise, which shall redound to 
his Saviour's glory, from heathens saved through 
his instrumentality from eternal woe,*' it will be 
discovered that his talents were wisely employed. 

Such flowers emit a fragrance inhaled by angels, 
and will be transplanted in heaven, there to bloom 
in their native element, through all eternity ! 



90 PROSEAND POETRY 



TO MARY. 

In love, dear girl, thy friend now twines 
A garland for thy youthful brow — 

A texture of the golden lines, 

Of hopes and joys that glad thee now. 

Though gilded now by rays of hope, 
Fraught with changes thy life may be ' 

To shade thy radiant horoscope. 
Dark clouds may linger near to thee. 

Deceitful ones thy path may throng, 

While Spring doth last and flowers bloom; 

But soon as Winter's winds arise. 
Sycophants shun the coming gloom. 

Then from the crowd, my friend, select, 

To be companions chosen here, 
Those pure and true — of God elect — 

To virtue and religion dear. 



TO MARY. 9i 

Like Christians aft' their terrene close, 
Still living on, though *bove our view, 

Thy Saviour's love no changing knows — 
Though ills betide, 'tis ever true. 

Then treasure well his sacred Word ; 

'Twill faith unto thy spirit give, 
And waft it up to joys unheard, 

Prepared with Christ for e'er to live. 



82 PROSE AND POETRY. 



AN ELEGY 01^ THE DEATH OF A 
YOUKG LADY. 

No more shall I behold her, 
No more these arms enfold her ; 
To a land of deepest shade 

She is gone. 
Like the flower nipped by frost, 
Ere its early bloom was lost. 
So died the lovely maid 

"Who is gone. 

O, do not weep or mourn, 

Or desire her return ; 

To the mansions of the blest 

She is gone. 
From envy and from strife, 
From all the ills of life, 
Where the weary are at rest. 

She is gone. 



AN ELEGY. 98 

There, free from toil and pain, 
She for ever will remain ; 
Her sorrows are all o*er; 

She is gone 



To that bright throng in heaven 
The host of the forgiven ; 
Then let us grieve no more, 

She is gone. 



94 PROSE AND POBTRr. 



HAPPINESS. 

Happiness ! thou glittering thing. 

That which we all desire ; 
Thou art for ever on the wing, 

And if pursued, retire ! 
How many mortals toil through life, 
'Mid scenes of danger, care and strife, 

And in the end do find 
That all their work has been in vain — 
They sought what none on earth obtain, 

A perfect peace of mind. 

Then stop, vain man, and follow not 

This ignis fatuus bright. 
But be contented with your lot ; 

Trust not its flattering light. 
It still will fly when you pursue, 
And keep receding from your view — 

'Tis but a fruitless chase ; 
And when your race of life is run, 
This rainbow, glistening in the sun, 

Is in another place. 



FORGET THEE. 95 



FORGET THEE. 

Forget thee ! no, thy image dear 
Is with the chords of life entwining ; 

Thy noble form is ever near, 

And like a light before me shining. 

Whether in slumber or awake, 
In solitude, or converse sweet. 

My constant thoughts of thee partake, 
And whisper we again shall meet. 

To me thou art a beacon bright, 

My pathway o'er rough seas to guide ; 

To me thou art a star of night, 
Far brighter than all else beside. 

That star relumes my darkened way. 
And cheers my sad, desponding soul 

With light of more than heavenly ray, 
Yet more remote than distant pole. 

Forget thee ! no, I try in vain, 
To banish every thought of thee : 

When this lorn heart is closed to pain 
Thou 'It be my sweetest memory. 



96 LINES TO LITTLE MINNIE 



LINES TO LITTLE MnTNIE. 

As fades the bud without decay, 
Plucked off by ruthless hand, 

So passed thy lovely charms away, 
To holier, happier land. 

No racking pain, sweet one, by day. 
Left on thy brow its trace, 

Nor night of anguish stol'd away, 
The bloom from thy angelic face. 

Thy coral lip lost not its hue, 
Thy eye its winsome light ; 

Thy bosom ne'er by earth's cold dew 
Had felt a chilling blight. 

0, lovely Minnie ! pretty dove, 

Dropt for an hour below 
To fill our hearts with joy and love, 

And charm away our woe. 



LINES TO LITTLE MINNIE. 97 

Too soon thy little song was sung ; 

Too soon thy smile^has fled ; 
Too soon, alas ! thy lute unstrung ; 

Too soon thy icy head. 

Thy death bed was a scene of joy 

To thee, sweet one ! alone, 
For thou did'st change earth's gross alloy 

For praise 'neath God's high throne. 

We laid thee in the cold, dark grave, 
With prayers, and sighs, and tears; 

But oh ! we know that thou wilt have 
Holier, happier spheres. 

And tho' our hearts may bleed and break, 

We would not have thee here ; 
We'll "pray the Lord our souls to take," 

And meet in that bright sphere. 



08 PROSE ANJ) lOETRY. 



THE SABBATH 



•<Aiid God blessed the seventh, day, and sanctified it: because 
that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and 
made." — Gbn. ii. 3. 



Hail, holy day ! sweet day of rest, 
Both blessed and sanctified ; 

In which the poor and the oppressed 
Are free and satisfied ! 

The poor, who toil from day to day 

Beneath a burning sun. 
With gratitude and joy will say. 

Our six days* work is done. 

They see the Sabbath day appear, 
To Heaven their prayers arise ; 

They hope to end their labor here, 
And rest above the skies. 



XHB UNFORTUNATE. 



THE UNFORTUNATE^. 

" She never said she loved him/* 

But I saw it in her eye. 
The blush that mantled her fair cheek, 

Whenever he was nigh ; 
The sigh that heaved her tender breast, 

When, rising to depart. 
He kissed away the falling tear. 

And pressed her to his heart. 

I knew that he was wealthy. 

She poor, but virtuous too ; 
I thought to spoil her loveliness 

Was all he had in view ; 
That, like some sweet but fragile flower, 

Torn from its parent tree. 
She'd please his fancy for an hour, 

And then forgotten be. 

I told her not to trust him. 

He 'd ruin her fair fame ; 
Rob her of innocence and life, 

All but a guilty name ; 



100 PROSE AND POETBf. 

But she believed his promises — 

With a seducer fled, 
And now, deserted by the wretch, 

She toils for her child's bread. 



TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 101 



TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 

After my respects and compliments to the 

ladies of S and vicinity, allow me to apologize 

for assuming my present position : a position 
which commands the inestimable opportunity of 
tendering to this Division of the Sons of Temper- 
ance a small manifestation of admiration and 
esteem ; a privilege to which you, and you only, 
are legitimately entitled, and of which, I doubt 
not, you would ultimately have availed yourselves. 
Knowing, however, the kind and forgiving nature 
of woman, I feel a confident assurance of pardon. 

Worthy Patriarch and gentlemen of the Order 
of the Sons of Temperance, the laudable design in 
contemplation is the only consideration which 
could have induced me thus to transcend the con- 
ventional barriers of feminine delicacy, and to 
occupy a position so conspicuous. 

Should I^ prove, as I apprehend, unable to 
advance any thing deserving your attention, I 
shaU not attempt supplying the deficiency by 



102 PROSEANDPOETRY. 

rhetorical garlands, which please only the super- 
ficial, and are, though sometimes indulged, repu- 
diated by the more intelligent and discriminating. 

As a representative of the female sex, I appear 
before you to mingle the voice of condemnation 
against the deleterious draught you have wisely 
renounced ; and to express heartfelt gratitude to a 
philanthropic fraternity, destined to revolutionize 
the moral world ; to dilapidate the strongholds of 
Satan ; to dethrone the most abandoned sovereign 
that ever swayed sceptre; to create an earthly 
paradise where thorns and thistles were wont to 
luxuriate. 

When the benign constellation of Temperance 
had become almost extinct in the moral galaxy; 
when the whole world, as it were, was writhing 
under the withering influence and diabolical 
tyranny of King Alcohol ; when the feeble voice 
of remonstrance and expostulation had well-nigh 
yielded to the desponding groans of despair; 
when solicitude, deep and heartfelt, had almost 
exhausted her ingenuity, and the dove of hope had 
plumed her wing the last time in pursuit of the 
olive branch, then, then it was that a little though 
determined band of brothers, with hearts ignited 
by philanthropic zeal, unfurled the banner of 
Temperance, proclaiming in the thunder's voice 



TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 103 

rebellion against this hydra-headed monster — this 
sworn friend of Pluto. Nor has the banner been 
unfurled in vain: every breeze that passes by 
wafts tidings of victory. High on the hill-top, or 
low in the vale, wherever its bright folds are seen, 
there, too, is a moral reformation visible. 

The pernicious — pernicious is a word too feeble 
to convey the idea — the damning effects of intox- 
icating liquors are too obvious to require delinea- 
tion, too revolting for refined contemplation. The 
concentrated art of sin and wickedness could not 
manufacture a beverage more demoralizing in its 
effects, more destructive in its operations. 

Man, high-hoping man, created in the image of 
a Divine Maker ; superior to all animated nature ; 
endowed with the capabilities of a god; an 
aspirant for heaven, and communion with Christ 
his intercessor, while under its influence is the 
most corrupt, the most terrible. Yet, strangely 
deluded, strangely infatuated, in opposition to his 
better judgment, in defiance of God's awful 
denunciations against the drunkard, he delib- 
erately and unequivocally administers the suicidal 
dose of Bohon Upas, which poisons his mind; 
unfits him for the enjoyment of the refined 
pleasures of existence ; introduces contention and 
discord where love and harmony were wont to 



104 PROSE AND POETRY. 

dwell; desecrates the sacred privileges of every 
Divine ordinance; in a word, robs him of the 
man, and constitutes him a brute, a byword, and a 
reproach; finally consigning him to a premature 
grave, there to wait the death-knell of his soul : 
'^Depart from me^ ye cursed. Ye knew your dutyy 
but ye did it noV 

Ages of unutterable woe shall have passed, and 
the agonizing shrieks of the lost are reverberating 
through the fiery vaults of hell : " Tell me, ye 
companions of iniquity, how long shall I endure 
this indescribable torture?'' Eternity! eternity! 
^^Tell me, thou spirit of my sainted mother; thou 
whose prayers, fervent and anxious^ I disregarded, 
whose counsels I rejected, how long, how long 
shall I suffer this dreadful punishment? always 
consuming hut never consumed; always dying hut never 
to die r' Eternity! eternity! eternity! 

Millions of years shall again have inflicted their 
allotted portion of misery, and the wailings of 
despair and supplication are yet reverberating: 
" Tell me, God ! whose love I spurned, whose 
wrath I wilfully enkindled, is there no mercy in 
heaven? All, all I ask is spiritual annihilation, 
and that I beg for mercy's sake !" " Ye knew your 
duty^ hut ye did it not!'* is the awful though just 
response of Him who has promulgated to the 



TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 105 

world, " The wages of sin is eternal death!'' a re- 
sponse ectioed through, the celestial courts of 
heaven. 

Gentlemen, this is no fancy sketch, conceived by 
an enthusiastic imagination, and delivered in the 
delirium of excitement. Would to Heaven it 
were ! If there is a single individual present over 
whom a fate so awful is impending, let me beseech 
him to pause and reflect; to dash far from him 
the fatal cup, instrumental in producing such 
consummated wretchedness, such endless punish 
ment. 

"Will he whose soul is lighted 
With wisdom from on high, 
To spirits so benighted 
The lamp of life deny V* 

Freedom ! 0, how sweet the sound ! With 
out freedom life were a cheerless boon, a 
dreary waste ! Give me liberty or give me death, 
is the sentiment of every enlightened mind — 
of every mind bearing the impress of its Divine 
origin. 

Whenever the national flag is unfurled to the 
breeze, every patriotic bosom thrills with courage 
and valor ! No hesitation to investigate causes — 
enough for man to know that his country has 

been invaded, his privileges as a freeman ex- 

5* 



106 PROSE AND POETRY. 

posed to danger. With heart nerved for battle, 
with heart ready to be immolated upon the shrine 
of liberty, he is ambitious to be foremost in the 
contest, and never shouts more triumphantly than 
when elevating the standard of victory ! 

If such is man's courage when his tempora^ 
rights are assailed, what should be the extent 
of his courage when the eternal interest of his 
immortal soul is involved ? Surely it should 
employ the most vigilant exertions, the most un- 
relenting opposition ! What should be the extent 
of his zeal when the banner of Temperance, the 
ensign of moral greatness, is hoisted ? It should 
acknowledge no restraint within the limits of 
reason ! 

Were I a man, I, for one at least, would rally 
around it, defending it with my latest breath ! Yes, 
I would unite with this wise little army, which 
already has accomplished much, and is destined 
to achieve a greater victory than an Alexander 
or a Napoleon ! 

Is there no Caesar present who will take the 
lead in this glorious warfare ? The Rubicon being 
crossed, the battle is won. A little moral courage, 
and the victory is gained. 

Let the feeble voice of woman inspire that 
courage! In no way can you conduce more to 



TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 107 

human happiness, or more enhance your own; 
in no waj more assuredly procure for yourdelves 
an approving conscience, or more effectually 
secure the approbation of the ladies ; in no way 
sooner establish peace on earth and good will towards 
men, or contribute more to the cause of Chris- 
tianity, 

In conclusion, allow me, gentlemen, to present 
to you this banner. Take it — guard it well ! 
During its execution a thousand emotions have 
revolved in my mind. Hope and fear have alter- 
nately prevailed ! Hope that, in after years, I 
may have the happy gratification of learning that 
its pure folds and bright colors have been shielded 
from the assaults of the enemy. Fear, lest one 
of your little number, recreant to duty, recreant to 
honor J should, by a violation of his sacred trust, 
reflect dishonor upon it, and upon the Division to 
which it is given. But, as a summer cloud 
before the noonday sun, every uncharitable re- 
flection has vanished, leaving no vestige of fear 
behind. 

An organization having Love, Purity, and 
Fidelity for its foundation, is obliged to stand. 
The rain may descend, the floods come, and the 
winds blow and beat upon it, and it will not fall ; 



108 PROSE AND POETRY* 

for it is founded upon a rock. Yea, it is destined 
to survive the vrreck of the universe, and be per- 
petuated in heaven, where all will be immaculate 
members of the Sons of Temperance, 



MY childhood's HOME. 109 



W^ CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 

My childhood's home ! My childhood's home ! 

Of thee with rapture I will sing ; 
For thy dear joys to me do come. 

As brightest sunshine Spring can bring. 

My childhood's home, and mother dear, 

Together linked by strongest tie 
In this fond heart till death is near, 

To waft my soul beyond the sky. 

My childhood's home ! and father brave ! 

Blessings sure, by Heaven's decree, 
To lead my thoughts beyond the grave, 

To things Divine — God, to thee ! 

My childhood's home ! and sisters too, 
Are golden links of that bright chain, 

In mercy formed for me to view ; 
Then draw my soul to Him again. 



110 PROSE AND POETRy> 

My childhood's home, and brother's love ! 

Their tendrils, round my heart entwined, 
Are growing still — will live above, 

With saints and angels e'er enshrined. 



lALLASSBE FALLS, 111 



TALLASSEE FALLS. 

Tallassee ! humble, obscure Tallassee ! 
Thy modest grandeur hath aroused dormant 
Fancy ; and the bright beams celestial, 
Which from thy crested bosom dart, wake once 
More the slumbering flame of wild poetic 
Fire, which, in the days of youthful ^rdor, 
Inspired my happy heart ! 

Yet hard ! 0, hard the task to tell thy wonders ! 
Language, rich and copious, the tongue rebukes, 
And bids it silence keep, nor vainly prove 
Its impotence ! Imagination filled, 
Inebriated with amazement, in vain 
Essays to grasp thy warring sublimities ! 
Though I may feebly tell the sweet and sacred 
Thoughts which crowd my brain, as on the rock I 
Stand, and gaze upon thy fearful chasm ! 
Thoughts which the love-toned harp of Zion woke, 
Thy discord calleth forth again ! 



112 PROSE AND POETRT. 

I gaze 
Upon thy turbid waters, as they rush. ^ 
From rock to rock, in angry mood, till, vast 
And vehement, thy warring torrent, like 
A "lake long pent up amid the mountains," 
Leaps forth in the gulf below ; and as I 
Gaze, I think upon the awful flood of wrath 
Due to the sins of vile, apostate man. 
Which gushed upon the meek and lowly 
One, and wrung the bitter cry : "My God ! 
My God! 0, why dost Thou forsake me?'' 
I behold the mysterious bow of heaven. 
And read a language in its silent spell ! 
Tellest thou, bright arch, of that beauteous bow 
Of peace and love which spanned Mount Calvary 
When Jesus died ! The eye of Christian faith 
Turns from scenes of earth, and sees, O, love 
Divine ! the wondrous words inscribed by God's 
Own hands upon that bow, Peace, 'peace on earthy 
Since Christ the Saviour died ! 
I stand upon the rock ! here am I safe. 
Thus may I ever stand on him, the Rock 
Of everlasting ages ! 

Secure from harm, 
As on the rock I contemplate that mighty 
Cataract of wrath which on my Saviour 
Poured to rescue me — to rescue all — thus 



TALLASSEE FALLS. 118 

May I gaze upon the bow of mercy ! 
Read its bright lines, and wonder and adore ; 
Thus sweetly may the fountains of my soul 
Be broken up ! and tears, luxurious tears 
Of joy and gratitude for ever flow. 



114 PROSE AND POETRY, 



THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 

In past ages the study of the ancient languages 
was confined almost exclusively to the clergy, and 
a few learned men. The idea of introducing it 
into female schools and seminaries of learning 
would have startled the world, and been regarded 
as some extravagant chimera of a madman's 
brain. 

We are told, however, that Lady Jane Grey and 
Queen Elizabeth were well versed in some of the 
dead languages. The latter spoke fluently both 
Latin and Greek ! But these royal females were 
far more favored than others of their sex, and 
equalled by few" of the opposite — were far in ad- 
vance of their age. 

Even in classic Scotland, the nursery of science, 
the study of the Greek language was not intro- 
duced until about the sixteenth century ; and then 
it met with much opposition. 

The great Scottish Reformer, John Knox, did 
not become acquainted with the Hebrew until at 



THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 115 

the age of fifty. He studied it while an exile m 
Geneva. 

In our country much indisposition has been 
shown to the study of the ancient languages. 
But a brighter day seems dawning upon the lite- 
rary world. The ponderous tomes of classic authors 
are no longer confined to the library of the theolo- 
gian and the linguist ; but may be seen in the 
hands of every schoolboy, yea, and schoolgirl 
too. 

A great many words in our language, especially 
the compound, are of Latin and Greek origin : 
and it is impossible to thoroughly comprehend 
them, unless acquainted with the languages from 
which they are derived. Far be it from us to 
repudiate the use of the good old' Saxon words ; 
for many of them, simple though they be, are 
hallowed by association with the dear objects that 
they denote. But words which give dignity 
and grandeur to the English language are derived 
chiefly from the Latin and Greek. 

By reading translations, some knowledge of 
the works of classic writers may be acquired ; but 
the best translation is to the original as the life- 
less picture to the living form. The principal 
features may be faithfully preserved, but the 
warmth, the vivacity of the original are wanting. 



J16 PROSE AND POETRY. 

The scholar who is familiar with the pages of 
classic literature has many rich feasts, which one 
unacquainted with the ancient languages can 
never enjoy. He can accompany a Csesar through 
his triumphant career of conquest ; listen to the 
sublime orations of a Cicero ; and be entranced 
by the sweet pastorals or more heroic measures of 
a Virgil. He thus becomes acquainted with the 
laws, customs, and peculiar doctrines of the great 
nations of antiquity, and is prepared to trace their 
influence on all succeeding ages. Some knowledge 
of those languages is essential to any of the learned 
professions. 

The lawyer has much use for the Latin tongue, 
because the rudiments of law were early written 
in that language ; and its technical terms are yet 
in Latin. The Roman tables constitute the basis 
of our legal system ; and to one unacquainted with 
the language of Rome, legal lore is unmeaning. 
To the disciple of Esculapius, the Greek is indis- 
pensable, since medical science was derived from 
that people. Its forms of expression, its techni- 
calities, are Greek. 

But especially is it necessary that the theologian 
should be well acquainted with the languages in 
which the Sacred Scriptures were originally written. 
He who is not may be a man of much piety, but 



THE ANCIENT LANGUAGES. 117 

never can he enter so deeply into the meaning of 
the Divine text, as he to whom the Hebrew and 
the Greek are familiar. 

He who wars against the study of the classical 
languages of antiquity, is chargeable with reckless- 
ness and folly as great as he who would demolish 
the foundation of the temple, and expect the 
superstructure to stand firmly erect. Extinguish 
the knowledge of these, and the principal lan- 
guages of the world would degenerate into un- 
couth jargon. 

The English, the French, the Spanish, the 
Italian, owe their polish and beauty to their origin 
— the oro rotundo of Roman literature. 

Should it ever unfortunately happen that the 
study of those languages should fall into disuse — 
should be banished from the halls of learning, 
and the writings of Livy, Cicero, Horace, Virgil, 
and Caesar, and all the host of classic authors, be 
repudiated, then will our language become a 
medley of scraps and terms collected from all other 
tongues. The ancient classics serve to keep the 
fountain pure. 



118 PROSE AND POETRY. 



FAREWELL TO ALABAMA.* 

Alabama, good-bye ! I love thee well ! 

But yet for awhile do I leave tliee now ! 
Sad, yes, sad thoughts of thee my heart doth 
swell, 

And burning recollections throng my brow ! 
For I have wandered through thy flowery woods ; 

Have roamed and read near Tallapoosa's stream; 
Have listened to Tallassee's warring; floods, 

And wooed on Coosa's side Aurora's beam. 

And now we part ; the car is running fast, 

Her pathway decked by wreaths of curling 
smoke ; 
The Herculean power that guides her mast 

Will soon bear me to my own Homey Sweei 
IIom£, 
Home ! Home ! that tender word let me retrace — 

Retrace each dear and hallowed spot at home ! 
Each cherished wish, and every well-known face, 

To banish thoughts of those from whom I roam. 

^Written in imitation of Tyrone Power's "Farewell to Ame- 



MY HEART TO-NIGHT. 121 

My enraptured, happy soul. 

Free as the proud eagle's wing, 
Free from physical control, 

Soars to worlds where angels sing ; 
To worlds where there is no noise, 

No contention nor vain strife. 
But celestial peace and joys 

Reign throughout immortal life. 



O, it is the sweetest joy 

Thus in thought to rise aloft, 
Where no sins of earth alloy, 

Wliere words of love are heard oft. 
Stay aloft, spirit mine. 

Disdain this cold, selfish world ; 
Much purer joys can be thine 

Than on earth were e'er unfurled. 

Look abroad upon each c^tar ! 

Tho7agh it but a beacon seems. 
To guide mariners from afar, 

A bright world of glory beams ! 
""Whose suns and skies are e'er clear, 

Without one single hour of gloom ; 
And the gently rolling j^ear 

Ne'er puts off its youthful bloom. 



122 PKOSE AND POETRY. 

"Where looks of briglitness never know, 

Through time's lapse, one sadd'ning shade; 
Nor the forced smile strive to throw 

Over hopes in ruin laid/' 
WTiere asre comes not with chillino; touch. 

Bringing symbols of decay ; 
-But forms of beauty are such 

Through eternity's long day. 

"Where grim death can never wring 

The heart's strong and sacred ties ; 
For they in love do only cling 

To heaven's immortalities. 
*^And friends love without the thought 

That forces oft the bitter tear, 
That a few years may leave naught, 

Perhaps, of all held most dear." 

But hark, my soul ! dost forget 

The sweet visions pure and bright, 
That but now around thee met, 

With rich feasts of sweet delight ? 
Ye are welcome, dear loved guests, 

Though ye come in mystic form ; 
I will list to your behests, 

They with pleasure I'll perform. 



MY HEART TO-NIGHT. 128 

"What's your mission ; what's your will, 

That ye come in silent night ? 
If some dewdrop to distil, 

Shed it ere the sun give light. 
If some kind monition brought, 

Speak at once, and I will list ; 
If with sorrow ye are fraught, 

I can bear that too, I wist. 

'' Yes, a dewdrop we do bring, 

And a kind monition too ; 
* Angels now are on the wing,' 

May their songs be heard by you ; 
By their gentle hands be led 

Through the strait and narrow way; 
When the grave enwraps thy head. 

Thy soul will guide to endless day.** 



1*24 PROSE AND POETRY. 



I WENT TO THE PLACE. 

I went to the place of my birth, and said: *'The friends of my 
youth : where are they ?" And echo answered : ** Where are they ?" 

I WENT to the place of my birth, and said : 

"The friends of my childhood, where are they 

fled?'' 
And echo replied, in a deathlike tone, 
" There remaineth not one — all, all are gone !'' 

Like the dewdrop, that glittered on the spray. 
Or the morning mist, they vanished away : 
Some went to the east, and some to the west. 
And some in the house of silence to rest. 

The cot where my father and mother dwelt, 
Even that the general doom had felt : 
It was gone ; and also the old oak tree 
Beneath which I played in infancy. \ 



I WENT TO THE PLACE. 126 

There nothing remained of the days gone by, 
" To claim a tear or to merit a sigh/' 
But the eternal hills and mountains high, 
And the ever-enduring calm blue sky. 

And thus, I exclaimed, it happens to all — 
Our friends like the leaves of autumn fall ; 
They noiselessly go, and are seen no more 
On life's eventful and changing shore. 

But Hope lifts my heart to that world above ; 
there may I meet each friend that I love ; 
There never again from them shall I sever. 
But 0, blessed thought, dwell with them for ever ! 



126 PROSE AND POBTBY. 



THE POWER OP TRIPLES. 

*' Springing from the faintest causes, 
Grand results have often shown 
That there is a power in trifles." 

A FAINT rustle is heard amid the sere leaves cf 
autumn : a tiny acorn has fallen to the ground. 
Weeks, months elapse, and at the very spot where 
lay the acorn, a slender stem, surrounded by a few 
delicate leaves, appears in its stead. The rain, the 
gentle dew, and the sunshine, each in its turn 
contributes to its growth and development. In a 
few years the fragile plant, which an infant's foot 
might have crushed, has become a sturdy oak, 
the hundred-armed Briareus of the forest, whose 
roots the storms of winter but serve to fix more 
deeply; in whose branches the birds of the air 
build their nests ; and beneath whose wide-spread- 
ing umbrage both man and beast find shelter and 
repose. 

Down deep in old ocean's bed, myriads of 



THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 127 

insects, so small as to be scarcely perceptible, are 
rearing monuments of themselves which bid defi- 
ance to the roaring winds and the raging waves. 
Many a green island of the sea, where grows 
the feathery cocoa and the graceful palm, and 
upon whose shores the dusky son of the tropica 
erects his home, is the production of these tiny 
though industrious insects. 

In that portion of the United States bordering 
on the Rocky Mountains, is a little limpid lake, 
from which flows a small stream only a few inches 
deep. Merrily it dances on its* way: now mirror- 
ing the wild flowers blushing by its side ; now 
furnishing a cooling draught for the agile deer 
bounding over its native woods ; and now refresh- 
ing the weary traveller as he drinks of its crystal 
waters. A thousand other brooks unite with it, 
and it becomes a mighty river : on its broad bosom 
majestic steamers are borne; on its fertile banks 
proud cities are erected. Proceeding onward, it 
is constantly receiving tributaries, until finally, 
having traversed thousands of miles, it mingles its 
now turbid waters with the Atlantic's blue waves. 

As the forest oak was once a bitter acorn ; as the 
island of the sea was the work of the coral insect; 
as this great Father of Waters — this mighty Mis^ 
sissippi — had its source in a diminutive mountain 



128 PROSE AND POETRY, 

lake, so in the moral as well as the material world, 
grand results have often sprung from the faintest 
causes. 

Almost all the great discoveries which have 
preeminently distinguished the late centuries, have 
been the result not so much of profound research 
as of accident. For instance, the simple circum- 
stance which led to the great discovery of the law 
of gravitation. 

A hundred years later, in an humble cottage in 
Scotland, a little boy sat by his mother's kitchen 
fire. In an attitude of the deepest attention ho 
gazed at the tea-kettle singing on the hearth. 
What did he see in the misty wreaths of steam 
which ever and anon escaped from the spout, or 
slowly lifted the lid of the kettle ? The expan- 
sive, the propelling power of steam ! And the 
grand idea enters his mind of applying this power- 
ful agent to machinery. Little did his mother 
dream, when she chided her son for what she con- 
sidered a foolish habit, that he was making a dis- 
covery for which he would not only receive a proud 
title, but the untiring thanks of a grateful world ; 
for the improvement in the steam-engine, which 
this discovery enabled Watt to make, has saved 
an amount of labor no mathematician can esti- 
mate 



THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 129 

The history of our own country affords ,many 
happy illustrations of the power of trifles. Behold 
Columbus, with a small fleet, and without a chart, 
sailing over seas hitherto unexplored. Even the 
magnetic needle, his only guide over the pathless 
ocean, ceased to point to the polar star. Terrified 
by this phenomenon, the sailors refuse to go 
farther, until he, with the presence of mind for 
which he is so remarkable, promises if in three 
days land does not appear he will return. Soon 
signs of land are visible : with renewed hope they 
proceed ; and the discovery of a New World is the 
result. Had the self-possession of this renowned 
adventurer forsaken him but for a moment; had 
the time appointed for retracing their course been 
but a few hours shorter, America might yet have 
been a trackless wilderness. 

More than a century after this important dis- 
covery, a solitary ship is on the deep. With its 
precious freight of one hundred and one souls, it 
pursues its perilous way over the wintry waves. 
The winds howl through the rigging ; the billows 
rage around; but within that little vessel all is 
calm. Those Pilgrims have put their trust in God, 
and amid the storm they sing his praise. At last, 
weak and weary, they land on the rock-bound 

coast of New England, " without shelter, without 
6* 



130 PROSE AND POETRY. 

means, and in the midst of hostile tribes/' Were 
it possible to interrogate any one unacquainted with 
the subsequent history of the Pilgrim Fathers, as 
to the result of their enterprise, he would answer : 
" They must perish ; they cannot survive the priva- 
tions and dangers to which they are exposed/' 
But every citizen of our nation knows that this 
little band of Christian brothers, forced by perse- 
cution to flee their native land, were the first to 
establish a permanent colony in the Western 
Hemisphere ; the first to establish the glorious 
privileges of civil and religious libert3^ 

The causes which led to the American revolu- 
tion were in themselves insignificant; but the 
result ! — the formation of a republic for which the 
world's annals furnish no parallel. 

Our chief institutions of learning exemplify the 
principle of "great efifects from little causes/' As 
proof, we need only turn to the history of Yale 
College and Nassau Hall. 

Even ''genius loves to nestle in strange places," 
and confer its meeds of honor in the most obscure 
pathways. The very humblest households have 
frequently been the nurseries of the most gifted 
minds. " We see Galileo soliciting the loan of a 
few shillings with w^hich to purchase the materials 
for constructing his telescope," an instrument 



THE POWER OF TRIFLES. 131 

which has brought thousands of stars, never before 
seen, within the sphere of mortal vision ; thus 
throwing a flood of noonday effulgence on the 
sublime science of Astronomy. 

Embarrassed by poverty, and surrounded by a 
gloom never varied by 

**The sweet approach of even or morn, 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
Or human face divine," 

Milton wrote an epic poem never equalled. 

Beethoven, whose name is inseparably connected 
with all that is sublime in harmony, was in ex- 
tremely limited circumstances. Like most great 
geniuses, he was in advance of his age. The 
world disdained to listen to those exquisite strains 
its discordant soul could not comprehend, and 
almost persuaded him to doubt the powers of his 
own genius. As a climax to his misfortunes, he 
became completely deaf. Never more shall he 
hear the sweet sounds dearer to him than all the 
world beside ; but their memory lives, and will 
vibrate through his soul for ever. Alone amid 
the solitudes of nature, he composed those marvel- 
lous symphonies which everywhere thrill with 
unutterable emotion the heart-strings of the gifted, 
the refined, the noble in soul. 

It is with feelings of grateful triumph that we 



132 PROSEAND POETRY. 

arrive at our own ^reat and comparatively recent 
blessings, the results apparently of little causes. 
It was through the stern discipline of early strug- 
gles with adversity that the great American 
triumvirate, Clay, Webster, and Calhoun, derived 
that strength of mind which enabled them to 
battle so successfully when a nation's destiny was 
at stake. 

The very nobility of Christian literature have 
sprung from the lowest walks of life. Dr. Thomas 
Home, author of the Introduction to the Bible, 
was once a journeyman bookbinder; and White- 
field, the Demosthenes of the pulpit, was once a 
poor bootblack in the University of Oxford. In- 
deed, almost all the great men who have done so 
much for the advancement of science and the 
amelioration of mankind, were in early life en- 
gaged in some manual employment. The profess- 
ing Christian whe scorns the lowly, would seem 
to forget that Jesus selected his disciples from the 
fishermen of Galilee ; that Melancthon, the theo- 
logian of the Reformation, emerged from an 
armorer's shop ; and that Luther went forth from 
the cottage of a German miner, to wound the Man 
of Sin, and to shake to its foundations the throne 
of Papal Rome. 

The publication of a book seems a trivial occur- 



THE POWER OP TRIFLES. 133 

rence; but who can tell tlie influence, either for 
weal or woe, which it may exert? Two centuries 
ago, within the walls of a prison, was written the 
immortal Pilgrim's Progress, which now goes 
forth by millions to every quarter of the globe, 
leading multitudes to the Cross of Christ. 

And Doddridge, the author of the Rise and Pro- 
gress of Religion in the Soul, was of humble 
lineage. Thus we see that that book, and the like 
literature, which thousands, from the renowned 
William Wilberforce down to the present time, 
regard as instrumental, in their conversion, have 
emanated from the domiciles of the poor, or from 
the confines of the persecuted. 

A learned writer has said: ''There is nothing 
on earth so small that it may not produce great things.'' 

'•Planets govern not the soul, nor guide the destinies of man; 
But trifles lighter than straws are levers in the building up of 
character." 

On a bright summer's day, in years gone by, 
there lay, near a grogshop, on the outskirts of a 
Virginia city, one in manhood's prime, but ap- 
parently lost to manhood's pride. His senses 
stupefied by liquor, there he was, a degraded mash of 
animated dust, the scorching rays of the sun beating 
down upon his face with furious intensity. A 
young lady, who was passing by, recognized in the 



134 PROSE AND POETRY. 

inebriated sleeper the idol of earthly affections; 
him whom she had told she would sacrifice every 
thing for, if he would but cease his intemperate 
habits. With all woman's devotion and tenderness, 
she softly spread over his face her handkerchief — 
her name written upon it. The sleeper awoke. 
The name uppermost in his sober thoughts met 
his eye. The truth burst upon his mind. He 
resolves to forsake such an ignominious course. 
The lovers meet and are united. The subsequent 
history of William Wirt shows that this little 
office of love was not lost ; yea, that it may even 
have been the means of rescuing him, who after- 
wards declined a presidency, from a drunkard's 
grave; and enrolled his name upon the annals 
of his country's greatness to shine with undying 
lustre. 

A little word, a little act, a little thought seals 
our destiny for ever. A yes or a no shapes our 
fortune for wretchedness or bliss in all coming 
time. Thus, then, we may learn from this view 
of the subject not to despise little things. They 
possess a potency and expansion of which men 
little dream, amid the rush and turmoil of life's 
career. 

If we have been denied those extraordinary 
talents which ever give their possessor such influ* 



THK POWER OF TRIFLE St 135 

ence, we are apt to imagine there is nothing for 
us to do. But this is not so : 

Every one, though poor and humble, 

Has a mission to fulfil ; 
Every hand, though small and feeble, 

Can work out some good or ill. 

"We, then, who may mourn over the want of 
talents, the inability to accomplish great things, 
should take courage. Though we be not distin- 
guished for brilliant acquirements ; though the 
worldly and the gay seek not our society ; though 
listening senates and crowded assemblies hang not 
upon the eloquence of our tongue ; yet we may 
exert an influence, unobserved save by an All-seeing 
eye — an influence gentle as the dewdrop, sweet as 
the fragrant flower — which will live when the vain 
and frivolous are forgotten, when the statesman 
and orator are stilled in death. If we have soothed 
one aching heart — if we have spoken one word of 
encouragement to an erring brother — if we have 
given even one cup of cold water to one of the 
household of faith, we are not living in vain. 

Such deeds, though seemingly trifling, are pre- 
cious in the sight of God ; and are recorded in his 
jewelled ledgers in characters imperishable as 
eternity 



• 36 •> PROSE AND POETKt, 



a 



TO MARY. 



'And what is friendship but a name, 
A charm that lulls to sleep ; 

A shade that follows wealth and fame, 
Then leaves the wretch to weep ?'* 



Is friendship then a selfish thing ? 
Is wealth and fame the only spring 

From which such feeling flows ? 
If so, how few on earth can claim 
That tender, that endearing name ! 

For one, I can't, I know. 



^'But 'tis not so — none but the vile. 
The false, the sycophants, that smile 

To gain some purposed end, 
"Would prostitute that sacred tie, 
And, masked in base hypocjisy. 

Profess to be a friend. 



LINES TO MY SISTER. 137 

Yes, there are some whose candid hearts 
Would scorn dissimulation's art ; 

Who are just what they seem. 
May such kind Heaven bestow on thee. 
For only such will constant be^ 

Or merit thy esteem. 



LINES TO MY SISTER. 

[Written in Tuscaloosa.] 

I'm far away, lov'd one, 

'Mid sunshine and song, 
Where birds of gay plumage 

Their love notes prolong; 
Where golden-hued blossoms 

And soft zephyrs play, 
And joy sprinkles dew drops 

And balm in my way; 
Where murmuring waters 

Glide lovingly by. 
And reflect as a mirror 

The sunlighted sky ; 
Where orange and myrtle 

Together entwine, 



138 LINES TO MY SISTER 

And dark waving cedar 
Rears tendril and vine. 



Where the spirit of poesy 

Floats o'er the scene, 
Like a cloud o'er the earth 

In its silvery sheen ; 
And sparkling fountains 

Toss up their light spray, 
In ceaseless merriment 

Through night and through day; 
These spring days are passed 

'Mid Tusca's cool bowers. 
Her butterflies gay, 

And tinted flowers; 
My footsteps have wandered 

Through grotto and glen, 
O'er mountain and woodland. 

Through valley and fen. 



In Castalia's groves 

I have tremblingly stood, 
And my heart beat high 

In that mystical wood : 



LINES TO MY SISTER. 189 

'Mid temples of learning 

And classical lore, 
And sweet scented briers 

On Warrior's green shore. 
I've gone, dearest one, 

To the temple of God, 
And knelt in devotion 

O'er death's cold sod; 
I've list to the teachings 

Of earth, sky and air, 
While my soul soar'd upward 

On pinions of prayer. 



But more sweet to my heart 

Is thy voice, my love ! 
Than aught else beneath 

The bright heavens above; 
It has power to soothe 

My worn spirit to rest, 
And point it to realms 

Of the pure and the blest ; 
" Where rivers of Jordon 

Flow o'er the bright plains, 
And the noontide of glory 

Eternally reigns. 



140 ' PROSE AND POETRY. 



SING GENTLY. 

"Sing gently, sweet syren ;" my spirit is sad, 
Peace has fled from me, no longer I am glad ; 
The semblance has changed, the word has been 

spoken 
That blasted my hopes, while my heart it has 

broken. 

"Sing gently, sweet syren;" earth's pleasures are 

o'er, 
My bosom shall feel their emotions no more ; 
This heart has been stricken, 'tis bleeding with 

pain, 
A pang it has suffered 'twill ne'er feel again. 

"Sing gently, sweet syren;" my lot has been 

cast 
In a land of troubles that fore'er will last; 
Hope brings no promise of approaching relief, 
In sadness and sorrow must weather my grief. 



SrNa OENTLlf. J41 

^ Sing gently, sweet syren ;'* I'll list to thy lay, 
rill life's burning troubles shall flicker away ; 
When on my last pillow I've suffered full long, 
My dying devotion shall cling to thy song. 



142 PEOSFAFi:?:iTEY 



RELIGION. 

Religion ! thou source of all true joy on earth ! 

Conceived in heaven, and on earth given birth ! 

Beautiful, lovely, glorious and sublime, 

Thy joys endureth unto the end of time ! 

Ay, longer, over time itself victorious, 

Thou art enthroned in the courts above glorious ! ' 

Religion ! thou art a mysterious gift, 
Which the heart of man o'er the earth doth uplift! 
Thou tamest the wildest savage of the wood. 
And makest him the instrument of great good ! 
Thou strewest with flowers the path of the exile, 
And, in the fulness of joy, makest him smile ! 

Religion ! thou brightenest the prisoner's cell, 
And draughts of bliss yieldest him from thy pure 

well ! 
[n the desert thou art an oasis green. 
The weary heart making all tranquil serene ! 
[u humble poverty's meagre abode, 
Thou smilest and speakest a hopeful word ! 



RELIGION. lis 

Religion ! thou art a jewel beautiful — meet 

For the young bride to wear her bridegroom to 

greet ! 
With thanks to the Giver, too many to speak, 
Thou impressest a kiss on the new-born's cheek! 
With unwav'ring faith in God's power to save, 
Thou lookest in hope from the loved one's grave ! 

Religion ! thy strength is felt in all walks of life, 
Now promoting peace, and now subduing strife ! 
In the halls of state with grace thou dost preside. 
Enacting laws which throughout time wilt abide ! 
In the senate-chamber, thy silvery voice 
For the culprit pleads, and makest his heart rejoice 

Religion ! thou speakest with voice still and small, 

Alike in lowly cot and in stately hall ! 

To the man of years thou givest a new birth. 

And convertest to heaven his home on earth ! 

" Thou walkest in light shed from heaven abroad, 

And summerest in bliss on the hills of God !" 



144 PROSE AND POETRY 



DON'T CRY, MY BABY. 

Lines suggested by hearing a sick mother say to her darling 
boy — an only child — just a few days before he died, "Don't cry, my 
baby.*' 

Does fever rack my darling boy, 
And fill his little frame with pain : 

His mother knows no hour of joy, 
Till lie with health is blessed again. 

Don't cry, my baby. 

0, nestle, loved one, near my heart ; 

My fond affection may to thee 
Health-giving principles impart, 

Ev'n though of life it robeth me. 

Don't cry, my baby. 

Father in Heaven ! God of Love ! 

K thou wilt touch him he will live ! 
O, from thy throne, in courts above. 

In mercy look — ^bid him survive ! 

Don't cry, my baby. 



don't cry, my baby. 145 

Bid him the bitter cup refuse, 

Surcharged with chilly dews of death ! 

O'er his stricken spirit diffuse 

The healing fragrance of thy breath ! 

Don't cry, my baby. 

It cannot be, it cannot be, 

For man's first sin my child must die ! 
Must from his father and from me. 

Clasped in Death's sleep for ever lie ! 

Ever lie, my baby. 

O ! I was sick, and could not save 
The dear pledge to mortals given, 

To raise their thoughts beyond the grave, 
On wings of faith to soar to heaven. 

Blame not, my baby. 

And when they told me thou wert dead, 
My senses reeled — my earthly joy, 

And fondest hopes, together fled 
To realms above, my cherub boy ! 

To thee, my baby ! 

With mournful steps they bore my child 

Unto his narrow bed of clay ; 
Whilst I, in deep despair, was mild. 

And saw not where my son they lay. 

Saw not, my baby. 



146 PROSE AND POETRY, 

Though lonely is that dwelling-place, 

Though dark and deep the chamber there 

Which from earth's view hides thy pale face, 
Sad, sorrowing ones linger near. 

Rest, rest, my baby. 

Dear child of mine ! thou liest low ; 

The pulse has left thy silent heart ; 
And thou hast gone where all must go. 

And all must be as now thou art. 

My dead, cold baby ! 

"A seal is placed upon thy tongue, 

Which mortal hand can never burst ; 
A mist before thine eyes is flung, 

Which mortal might can ne'er disperse." 

My poor, blind baby ! 

The grief that now my bosom rends, 
None ever but a mother knew — 

My fair and faded bud now wends 
To other worlds, far from my view. 

Far, far, my baby ! 

In brighter worlds the bud now blends 

Heaven's hues ! cerulean blue ! 
From His high throne my King now bends, 
. To list this prayer — ^heartfelt and true — 

This prayer, my baby ! 



DON*T CRT, MY BABY. 147 

Pardoned, accepted, may again, 

In God's pure fold, the mother meet 

Her little lamb, by Thee now slain— 
Now taken angel bands to greet. 

My angel baby I 

" Suffer it to come unto me ; 

Composed of such my kingdom is ; 
But in my courts 'twill meet with thee, 
I^'e'er to part, as in worlds like this !'' 

We'll meet, my baby ! 

Give God the glory, my soul ! 

For love so great — love so Divine ! 
Which can the broken heart make whole, 

And cure this wounded spirit mine ! 

Give thanks, my baby ! 

Don't cry, my baby ! shout, rejoice, 
That so soon from sin thou art free ! 

That thou canst list to Christ's sweet voice, 
Pleading to save lost ones like me ! 

Rejoice, my baby! 

Rejoice ! the seal is off thy tongue, 
Which mortal hand could never burst ; 

Rejoice ! the mist thine eyes is flung. 

Which mortal might could ne'er disperse. 
Sing praise, my baby ! 



148 PROSE ANP POETRY. 

Some angel motlier enfolds thee, 
Now, beneath her spotless white wings ; 

Some angel band's sweet minstrelsy 
Thy mother's lullaby now sings. 

Sing too, my baby ! 

He who sits on the great white throne 
Will take you gently in his arms ! 

High above every trouble borne, 
Ne'er more to feel earth's rude alarms ! 

My blessed baby ! 



THE SABBATH. 149 



THE SABBATH. 

Sweet day of hallowed rest! How blessed thy 

sacred hours ! 
White-robed Peace sits enthroned upon yon fleecy 

cloud, 
As when the first six days' work was done, and the 

God 
Of creation blessed the seventh day and sanctified 
It! 

The glorious king of light, in majesty 
Sublime, shoots forth his golden arrows, spreading 

bright 
Efiulgence through the branches of the tall old 

trees, 
That, like sentinels, stand around in triumphant 
Security — twining their leaf-clad arms in close 
Embrace; and, with ray serene, descends to 

meanest 
Blade of grass and lowliest flower that raise 
Their heads to heaven. 



160 PROSE AND POETRY. 

The fields are keeping Sabbath! the reaping- 
hook 

Lies untouched midst Autumn's generous sheaves! 
*the black - 

Bird's gladsome note, as he warbles his Heaven- 
taught 

Song, "comes soft and mellow from the dale;*' 
the gentle 

Zephyrs scarce kiss the flowery dell; "and man 
and beast 

Enjoy the season designed for rest." 

At a time like this — 

So still, so tranquil, so Sabbath-like, the grateful 

Heart, in songs of praise and thanksgiving that 
upward. 

Like holy incense, riseth to heaven. No earth- 

Born passion nor thought impure obscures the 
brightness 

Of the spirit's gaze : unfettered from the world's 
cold 

Prison bars, it sees the vastness of eternity ! 
Hark I it is the steeple's bell I hear. 

Welcome sound ! sound that summons unto God's 
holy 

Worship ! At thy bidding the rich and poor, the 
high 

And low assemble ! The careworn laboier, who 



THE SABBATH. 151 

Earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, and the 

proud 
Voluptuous votary of mammon, all — all 
Come at thy impartial bidding ! 

Now the bell has 
Ceased, and those for devotion met wait for 

prayer — 
Prayer which on angels' wings is borne to heaven ! 

Then 
From the choir songs harmonious swell with 

chorus 
Sweet and joyful — voices touched by David's pure 

harp 
Of Zion, unite in the euphonious strain. 
Prayer again ensues — prayer, fervent, eloquent 

prayer. 
In which — for " Our Father who art in Heaven" is 
No respecter of persons — the rich and poor 
Remembrance find. 

One in the pulpit stands, of God 
Elect ! exhorting to good. He reasoneth thus : 
" Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall bo 

as white 
As snow ; though they be red like crimson, they 

shall be 
As wool.'' 



152 PROSE AND POETRY. 

His soul, freed from all cares, bathes its wings in 

glories 
TJnconceived ; and as his lofty intellect grasps 
The inspiration of this most sacred theme, he. 
Through argument great and imagery beautiful, 
Soars to bright, celestial altars, God has made 
Himself, eternal in the heavens. Now he tells 
Of a Saviour's dying love — his high estate — his 
Shameful banishment from the throne — his agony 
And bloody sweat — his soulfelt cry of anguish 
great : 
JElij JEli^ lama sabachthani ? 
His ignominious death and burial! The noon- 
day 
Sun conceals with crapen veil its blushing face ! 

Deep 
Sepulchral voices fill the air — while the cold 

graves 
Send forth their dead! — pale band, to chant the 

songs of praise 
And love ! 

** 'Tis done, the mighty plan is carried out — 
The last great sacrifice for sin is o'er; 
Then from the tomb he rolls the stone away, 
And shows a risen Saviour and a God ! 
The difierent hearers testify his power 



THE SABBATH. 153 

In different ways. TLe truth, like a sharp sword, 
Has cleaved its path. The flinty heart is crushed, 
And the great deep of sin is broken up ; 
The old transgressors tremble by the stand. 
The young in sin repent to sin no more. 
A. thousand voices join in one wild prayer. 
And shrieks, and groans, and shouts of joy arise ;' 
And Heaven keeps Sabbath over the joyful scene, 
Sweet Alleluia to the King of the Sabbath day ! 



164 PROSE AND POETRY. 



OOTHCALOOGA. 

Vale of beauty ! . the lone and troubled heart — 
In sweet seclusion, far remote from strife, 

Exempt from pain and folly, guile and art, 

Which throng around the busy scenes of life — 

Enjoys within thy bosom that repose 

Which in this cold world is seldom given ! 

That calm content which from retirement flowt^, 
And holds celestial intercourse with heaven ! 

Not here does malice plume her sable wing ; 

Nor mad ambition rage without control ! 
Not here does envy hurl her venomed sting, 

Nor passions base contaminate the soul ! 

Here, in her primitive simplicity. 

Nature o'er all holds undisputed reign; 

And banishes deceit, hypocrisy. 
And fashion's giddy, unreflecting train ! 



UUTHCALOOGA. 155 

Sure I for gayer scenes will never sigh, 
Nor crave the luxuries ill understood ; 

Which lull the senses, and attract the eye 
From thy delightful paths' sweet solitude ! 

O, if to us, while on this terrene sphere, 
A foretaste of heavens' joys be given, 

Sure it must be by God's own hands strewn here, 
An earnest of celestial biiss m heaven. 



156 PROSE AND POETRY. 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 

** For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and 
lose his own soul ? or, what shall a man give in exchange for hia 
soul?" 

Startling questions ! Momentous inquiries ! 
Questions which, if not found within the lids of 
the Holy Bible, the book of God, but simply 
propounded by man to his fellow-man, how deeply 
even then would he be impressed with their 
weighty importance, their startling suggestions ! 
How much more weighty, how much more start- 
ling then should they appear to man, coming as 
they do to him sanctified by Divine authority, 
sanctified by the Holy Spirit of God himself! 

All will admit that the salvation of the soul, the 
salvation of the immortal part of man, is of more 
worth than any, or all, mere earthly possessions 
or attainments, however desirable, however valu- 
able they may be. These questions teach the 
doctrine that the soul is immortal, therefore of 
more worth than the whole world beside. 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL* 157 

Wealth, earth's most treacherous gift, is, never- 
theless, valuable; affluence, though unstable as 
water, is desirable : it commands for the possessor 
every earthly comfort, every earthly luxury: it 
gratifies his appetite, indulges his passions, and 
purchases position : it allures the weak, it conquers 
the strong, and is the idol of all. 

When properly managed and judiciously appro- 
priated, wealth is valuable to man — ^valuable as a 
means, most valuable as an end. In the hands of 
the wise, wealth is power, and its possessor a uni- 
versal conqueror. But wealth belongs to earth ; it 
abideth not with man. 

** Wealth hath never given happiness, but often hastened misery." 

Knowledge, too, is valuable, most valuable. 
Knowledge is wealth of the most durable charac- 
ter : she possesses a wand which commands for her 
possessor a nobler happiness, a more exalted des- 
tiny; and weaves for his brow a chaplet of virtu- 
ous renown, whose bright colors will fade but with 
the end of time ! But knowledge shall fail, her 
devotees be transformed to dust, her laurel- wreathed 
altars crumble to decay; tongues and prophecies 
lie stilled in death. 

Power is valuable : it elevates to the very sum- 
mit of earthly bliss. To be the observed of ob- 
servers, as the one preeminent, to govern and 



158 PROSE AND POETRY. 

command, is pleasing to the soul of man— is the 
acme of the bright but illusive grandeur of human 
happiness. But it, like wealth and knowledge, 
abideth not with man. 

Wealth is terrestrial, and, however useful as a 
means, passeth away. Knowledge, when confined 
to earthly sciences, however the glory of its attain- 
ments may ennoble the mind and feast the intellect, 
perishes; and power, the poor brief power with 
which man is invested, is but weakness ! Either 
of these great objects of man's ambition, however 
conducive to his temporal happiness, is mortal, 
and, in its very best estate, must perish in its use. 
The occupant of a palace, the presiding deity of 
millions, lies down in a little narrow house of 
clay, with the poverty of him who tenanted a 
hovel, scarcely commanding the subsistence of 
a day. The philosopher, 

"Who knew all learning, and all science knew; 
And all phenomena, in heaven and earth, 
Traced to their causes," 

with the simple man 

* Who never had a dozen thoughts 
In all his life, and never changed their course," 

both stripped alike in death ; and the king, 

" The man condemned to bear 
The public burden x>f the nation's care," 



THE SALVATION OP THE SOUL. 159 

in the grave is too often more impotent than the 
subject ; for the eye of the kingdom looks a pro- 
tection to the tomb of the subject, while the king 
dies in banishment and is buried in exile. 

Human life, in its purest form, surrounded by 
all the heart holds dear, is but vanity and vexation 
of spirit. Man, '-poor pensioner on the bounties 
of an hour, walketh in a vain show.'' Why should 
he strive, why should he toil to obtain either of 
these the surest sources of earthly happiness, if 
life, and all that pertains to it, so soon be gone ? 

But will not human wealth and knowledge and 
power combined secure the happiness he craves? 
Hath human effort, industry, and ingenuity com- 
bined them? What did they bring to the pos- 
sessor ? Happiness ? No ! 

** For who did ever yet by honoT, wealth, 

Or pleasure of the sense, contentment find ? 
Who ever ceased to wish, when he had health, 
Or, haying wisdom, was not vexed in mind ?'* 

Field joining field, waving and laden with 
autumn's golden grain ; Minerva standing by, in- 
dustriously, gloriously analyzing, compounding, 
increasing, commanding the product of its wealth ; 
then rising, in the majesty of her own queenly 
power, to gather and control productive industry 
from still brighter fields, of larger dimensions and 



160 PROSE AND POETRY. 

nobler pile in yonder star-lit plain, whose husband- 
man giveth the increase ; increasing, producing, 
expanding in the proudest nobility of man ! — this 
were a higher happiness than earth hath ever 
known, and yet it were vanity; for the golden 
bowl is broken at the fountain, the daughters 
of music made low, and man goeth to his long 
home ! Hope whispers not of bliss unfading in 
yonder heaven ! Faith, living faith, points not to 
the Lamb which taketh away the sins of the world. 

Who then will deny that he walks in a vain 
show ? Who then will deny that his life, without 
the hope of a blissful immortality, is a shadow, 
and his earth-born happiness emptiness and vanity ? 

Depravity, universal and destructive depravity, 
the demon spirit that rears its altars at the expense 
of every earthly good, and then brings as its 
oblations purity and hope, which it consumes 
with fiendish delight, has made a wreck of human 
happiness ; and the undying part of man, un- 
fettered and fetterless by mere temporal good, 
weeps in agonizing bitterness over the mockery 
of life. Nor does death itself, the finis of all 
things sublunary, dispel its anguish: upon the 
graves of the departed it keeps its nightly vigils 
und its eternal moanings. 

We have immortal souls — 0, what an incentive 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 161 

to good ! — whicli soar above the earth, which death 
ciinnot imprison, which only eternity can measure 
in its duration of existence ; and before anothei 
sun brighten the earth, the dark cloud of death 
may cast its shadow over all that is beautiful in 
life, the cold grave entomb all that is dear to the 
heart, may even be open to receive these bodies 
of ours ; but our souls, without regeneration, will 
live in the dreadful desolation of death, shall 
weep in endless hell, when the conqueror of life 
shall be destroyed; and the very funeral pall of 
Time itself be white as snow. 

O ! what is worth a thought, what is deserving 
a moment's consideration, when put in the balance 
with the immortal part of our being? Is wealth? 
No ! Though the wealth of both Indies and the 
diamonds of Golconda were ours, to-morrow we 
die, and these our goods may become the posses- 
sions of enemies, to the oppression of our own 
heirs : 

*' Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys, 
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.'* 
i- 

Is knowledge ? ^ 

** Sorrow is knowledge ; they who know the most, 
Must moan the deepest o'er the fatal truth, 
The tree of knowledge is not that of life ;" 

and though we were master of all science and the 



132 PROSE AND POETRY. 

very light of philosophy, to-morrow we die and 
dhall find no consolation in human wisdom. Is 
the power of kings ? 

^'Earth's highest station ends in *here he lies,' 
And * dust to dust' concludes her noblest song/' 

When did the turbid tide of death roll back at 
the command of kings ; or the crown of the dead 
give security to the heir ? 

The wealth of the world, the wisdom of Solo- 
mon, and the power of crowned heads combined ! 
they dwindle into insignificance when put in the 
balance with the immortal spirit of man. ''As 
the mortal to the immortal : as the dead to the 
living!" 

Wisdom is folly to attempt the measure of an 
argument: ''For what shall a man give in exchange 
for his soulf 

** Nothing is worth a thought beneath 
But how I may escape the death 
That never, never dies." 

let us prepare our souls ! we can't too soon ; 
Commence now the blessed work, before it is noon. 

This great preparation of the soul should be the 
grand object of human pursuit. The salvation of 
the soul is inestimable. It cannot be repeated too 
often, that the accomplishment of this great work 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 16S 

is worth a lifetime of the most arduous toil, the 
most trying sacrifices. 

There is implanted within the breast of every 
rational being a longing for immortality; to die^ 
to pass away and be no more, is revolting to every 
reflective mind. But what would immortality be 
without the redemption of the soul? without a 
saving grace, which taketh away the sins of the 
world ? A death that never ^ never dies ! 

What is it to be a redeemed soul? It is to 
possess, to the fullest extent, that which our reason 
tells us constitutes perfect happiness ; it is the 
possession of wealth without the ensign of poverty ; 
the possession of knowledge which aspires to 
heaven, and passeth not away; the possession of 
power which subdues death and robs the grave of 
victory; it is every thing combined, which human 
reason, true to herself, calls happiness — esteems 
valuable beyond estimate. 

Let us see what it is to be a lost soul ! Let us 
contemplate the dreadfal spectacle. It is poverty; 
a heart-rending personification of poverty; poor, 
naked poverty, in its most abject condition ; 
poverty that the wealth of kings and emperors 
cannot enrich, nor conceal its nakedness ; it is 
ignorance that the knowledge of man cannot 
educate ; it is moral darkness that the world 



164 P K S E A N D P E T E Y. 

cannot illuminate ; it is weakness that the powers 
of earth, cannot make strong. A lost soul ! God 
of heaven ! what is it to be a lost soul ? This 
little pigmy world, with its scenes of conflict and 
strife, where the unsatisfied mind is tantalized and 
disappointed in her every eflfbrt to obtain com- 
plete happiness, is trouble enough for finite for- 
titude ; but to be cut off from hope which ventures 
beyond the narrow confines of time, from life 
everlasting, and to be doomed to inhabit the deep 
chambers of despair in unfathomed hell ; itself an 
unconsuming hell, banished irrevocably from the 
presence of God — the lust hope of rescue extinguished.: 
This it is to be a lost soul ! 

Anguish, deep and heartfelt, may envelop in 
dark clouds our spirits to-day, but to-morrow's sun 
dispels the gloom. Pain in the night, acute, ex- 
cruciating, subsides in the morning; but in 
eternity no hope of the day's return comforts the 
lost soul ; no bow of promise spans the fiery abyss ; 
trouble and sorrow^, anguish and conflagration 
never terminate ; the light of eternal life beams 
full and brilliant upon the liquid fire, not to in- 
spire hope, but a greater and more accurate know- 
ledge of the soul's eternal loss. God of mercy, 
save our souls from such a loss ! 

The thrilling questions, asked in all the im- 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 166 

V 

pressiveness of a Saviour's solicitude for dying 
man, which we have chosen for the context of our 
remarks, plainly, unmistakably imply that the 
rejected soul finds its way to that fiery abyss 
through its own neglect of the great overtures of 
mercy extended to it by a crucified God, all-pow- 
erful to save ; and with every other source of 
trouble in perdition, the thought that we wilfully, 
deliberately, of our own free will and choice, made 
our destiny eternal woe, will doubly augment the 
dreadful suffering — will plunge us infinite fathoms 
deeper in the torturing lake. 

The inquiry suggests : Is it indeed true that we 
are the controllers here of the destiny of our im- 
mortal souls in yonder vast, limitless eternity? 
Yes ; the united testimony of the inspired writers 
teaches that we are as much the directors of our 
immortal as of our mortal destiny. Yea, more ; it 
teaches that we may secure the salvation of our 
souls, while the acquisition of a world's wealth, 
the acquisition of a world's wisdom, the acquisi- 
tion of a world's power were impossible, and, if it 
were possible, would avail us nothing in eternity. 
Yes, these are the sublime teachings of the meek 
and lowly Jesus, the risen Savour and eternal God. 
It is ours to secure immortal bliss, or unending 
ivoe; to shine a bright luminary in the pure 



166 PROSE AND POETRY. 

galaxy of angels, or to be enshrouded in midnight 
darkness; to sing praises with Moses and the 
Lamb, or to howl in utter wretchedness a requiem 
to lost happiness. 

We are not now exempt from death, and sus- 
pended between heaven and hell, without a bias to 
the choice of either. This position is but the too 
common error — fair and plausible, even palatable 
to the understanding in theory, but faUe and 
poisonous in practice. This is an error fraught 
with destruction to human souls ; this is an error 
which has kept many from the cross of Calvary, 
and therefore should be exposed, should be ex- 
ploded. 

If a man does not secure the salvation of his 
immortal being, must he not endure the eternal 
wrath of God ? Yes, as surely as the God exists 
who promulgated that the wages of sin is eternal 
death. Christ never taught the doctrine for 
which careless sinners contend : he never set life 
and death, heaven and hell before men who were 
disposed to the choice of neither; he did not take 
upon himself the form of man and come into the 
world to glorify the supposed free volition of man 
in enabling him to save himself. Fallacious, pre- 
sumptuous thought ! Tie came seeking to save the 
lost, those over whom sin had dominion : he came 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 167 

in might to break open the prison-house of the 
bound ; he came, glory to his holy name, to set the 
captive free ; he came to proclaim glad tidings to a 
dying world ; he came to give the free agency^ of 
life to the spiritual dead, who have no agency to 
the right. To-day he comes to us — to those lost to 
holiness, lost to life, lost to happiness, lost to 
heaven — he comes with the white garments of 
holiness, the great balm of life, the great secret of 
happiness, the key to heaven, and offers them 
without money and without price. Who will re- 
fuse such great gifts ? who will refuse to be made 
alive ? He stands above the tomb of buried hopes 
to-day, and says to the dead, ''Come forth unto 
life;'' to the sick he says: " Take up your bed ana 
walk;'' to the blind he says : ''Behold thy Saviour;" 
to the deaf he savs : "Hear the word of the Lord;' 
and to the poor (blessed be his name) he says : 
"Ye have the gospel j^^^eached unto you^ and blessed is 
he, whosoever shall not be offended in me," 

Does this look like Jesus came to set life and 
death before men free to choose either ? No. It 
looks like he came to set life before the dead. He 
says : " Choose life and live, or drink the lorath of God" 

Is it not also plain that he who is perfectly free 
to choose either of two things, is equally free to 
choose neither? And God, our Saviour, therefore. 



168 PROSE AND POETRl!. 

upon this principle of human volition, fails entirely 
of the end of man's probation, and salvation by 
grace becomes the merest song of the idle imagina- 
tion. Unholy, impious thought, which seeks to 
elevate man by depressing and blotting the revela- 
tion of God I 

Has sin the dominion ? Are we then without a 
bias to choose weal or woe, heaven or hell ? Is 
not sin our prior choice, the troublesome current 
in our life which we cannot control ? It flows on, 
it flows ever, anxious, disturbed, with swollen 
waters and increasing flow ; it rolls us into the lake 
which burneth with fire and brimstone, unless the 
fatal stream be broken, and its springs be dried up 
in time. He, therefore, who would pamper the 
pride of his depravity, the lust of his flesh, with 
the variety of choice, in the freedom, recklessness 
of volition, is the enemy of his own soul, the 
destroyer of his own immortal happiness. The 
choice to life proposed in the heavenly philosophy, 
in the Divine economy, to eternal life in Christ 
our ransom, is from heaven. There is a hope, and 
but one way of hope, to escape the fearful punish- 
ment of sin ; there is a holiness, and but one way 
of holiness, that leads up to heaven ; there is the 
Christ, the appointed choice in God's appointed 
salvation to the lost souls. For out of this ap- 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 169 

pointed salvation, this salvation through Christ, 
our God is a consuming fire. Does this look like 
the freedom of variety of choice ? Must we not 
choose the one way of life, the appointed way of 
salvation, to escape the everlasting death of the 
soul ? Does this look like the freedom to a variety 
of choice? Is not the souVs estate, before it 
embraces this appointed salvation, one of spiritual 
death, without hope and without God in the 
world ? 

I read in the blessed Book of God, that when 
there was no eye to pity man, and no arm to save 
him from death, then Jesus loved him. O won- 
drous love and pity, beyond our highest thought ! 
Jesus loved the sinner in his lost estate, sinful 
estate. "With an arm of love and of power, Jesus 
enters the prison-house of human death, and 
brings life and immortality to light. I read that 
Christ comes to-day, and says: ''I am the way, 
the truth, and the life ; choose me and live;'* and 
so far from leaving man to exercise a depraved 
volition, the appointment of his love pleads with 
him to his acceptance ; reasons with him with 
ability to conceal his sins and make him holy; 
entreats his acceptance of him for his own good ; 
warns him that there is no other way to escape the 

eternal wrath of God — the eternal death of his 
8 



170 PROSEAND POETRY. 

soul. His word, his Spirit, and his providence he 
offers to sinful man, and are his, if he accept them, 
to teach, to guide, and to save. Who would not 
receive this salvation and live ? and, 0, who would 
reject it and drink the wrath of God ? There is a 
better way than the exercise of a free volition. 
God, who only is free to will the salvation of his 
creature, hath willed, decreed man's life, and has 
not willed or decreed the death of any man, but 
that all would come to him and have life everlast- 
ing. If man escapes not the damnation of hell, it 
will not be because God willed his punishment ; it 
v^U be because he rejects the decree of life — the 
great salvation appointed in Christ. 

This is the great difficulty with those who delay 
the acceptance of this appointed salvation : they 
entertain the idea of physical power in connection 
with the decree of life ; whereas God is a Spirit, 
and the decree to salvation is spiritual, therefore 
cannot do violence to the spiritual man. That 
part of man which is born of the Spirit of God is 
the spiritual man ; and that which is born of the 
flesh is flesh. It is not physical change ; it is not 
a new creation of the physical man for which 
immortality pants and sighs : it is a redemption of 
spirit from the death of depravity which makes 
the luxuriant earth a barren desert to the soul. 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 171 

The redemption of the soul is precious. Who 
should be anxious much as to his physical man ? 
What profit here ? But, I his soul ! his fettered, 
lost, immortal soul, where shall he find a ransom T 

Thanks to God for his unspeakable gift. God has 
found a ransom ; he hath laid help on one who is 
mighty to redeem ; and in the appointment of his 
love hd comes to all. He finds way to every lost 
spirit — for he is a Spirit — through the physical man, 
without violence, without let or hindrance, to the 
laws of the physical constitution. He ofiers free- 
dom to the captive soul ; he unbinds the fettered 
spirit; he speaks, and it is done; the liberated 
spirit leaps for joy ; salvation and the sinner are 
locked in close embrace; the lost is found; the 
soul is saved. 

This is the way to heaven ; this is the way our 
fathers trod. Let us be warned of the coming 
wrath. Let us embrace the Christ appointed. Let 
us enter the good old ship of Zion : 

At anchor safe within the bay she rides ; 

Nor heeds the danger of the swelling tides : 

Faith, Hope, and Prayer her steadfast anchors prove, 

With resignation to Ihe powers above. 

God is too good to tantalize a poor lost soul 
with this variety of choice ; Heaven regards 
sinners, as they really are, the objects of pity. 



172 PROSE ANDPOBTRY. 

The spirits fallen through their own choice of evil, 
and the totality of their depravity, constitute 
the continual tendency to all evil ; Heaven com- 
passionates the poor lost soul, and so far from 
saying to the bound in sin, loose thyself, she 
approaches it in the more rational way ; she says : 
^^I know thy sin and thy just deserts; I know 
thy weakness, that thou canst not make one hair 
white or black ; but I have loved you with an ever- 
lasting love ; I have redeemed you with great 
power, and have laid your help upon one who is 
mighty to save ; I have wrought out a righteous- 
ness which can save you ; I give it to you freely ; 
in this way only can you escape ; receive now the 
grace of God and live, or reject it and die in your 
sins. It is my will that you live ; it is my choice ; 
I have chosen you in Christ to everlasting life, 
that you should go and bring forth fruit, and that 
your fruit should remain; that whatsoever you 
shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give 
it to you P' How any lost soul can resist the 
appeal of God's love to life, is one of the inexplica- 
bilities of human depravity. ^ 

Yes, God so loves sinners, that he gives his only- 
begotten Son to die for them, that they may have 
everlasting life. Why will they then fret their 
day of grace away in useless speculations as to the 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL* 173 

way of life ? Jesus says : " Come unto me, all ye 
that labor and are heavy laden ; take my yoke upon 
you; learn of me, and find rest to your souls;" 
and again, " Ye will not come to me and have life.** 
This address must be to those capable in the 
physical man to exercise such a process of reason 
in regard to the facts contained in it, as shall 
bring the understanding to the point of the gospel 
address ; which is, that sinners are fallen spirits, 
lost souls, and there is no escape from everlasting 
punishment, but in the mercy of God as pro- 
claimed in Christ, the appointed Saviour ; and this 
operation of the reason brings us to the very point 
of the whole matter. The Bible plainly says, if 
saved at all, it must be through the mercy of God, 
not by works which you can do ; and reason, 
looking to the facts, arrives at the very same con- 
clusion in reference to salvation. What then can 
sinners do but fall at the feet of sovereign love, 
and say : If I perish, I perish ; I have no hope 
but in the mercy, the undeserved, unconditional 
mercy of God; that God against whom I have 
wilfully sinned, and who hath mercy on whom he 
will. I have no claim to such mercy; but, though 
my sins are great, I will venture to approach the 
mercy-seat ! I can but perish if I go, I am con- 
demned already ; this is my only mode of escape. 



174 - PROSE ANP POETRY. 

Perhaps he will admit my plea, perhaps will hear my prayer. 

And if I must perish, God ! let me perish there. 

I know his heavenly courts, and I would enter in ; 

Why should I starve and hunger here — prison-bound by sin ? 

I'm in a barren land — my spirit thirsts and sighs 

For immortality, it fain to heaven would rise. 

I glad would eat and be full, but no man gives to me ; 

All unworthy as I am, God I I come to thee. 

Have we reached this point? Then light hath 
entered in — life is given. 

God is love ! There is enough for all, and to spare — 
Room in the Saviour's bleeding heart for us to share. 
Arise, go to our Father, go in our great shame. 
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken, 'tis all the same, 
He loves us still ; he beholds us from afar off, 
And gives us pity instead of merited scoff. 
He beholds the broken sorrows of each our hearts, 
And runs to meet us, and to us his love imparts ; 
He falls on our neck and gives us the kiss of love, 
. Promising us a bright inheritance above. 

** Bring forth, says he, the best robe and put it on him; 

This is my son — in heaven, amongst cherubim. 

He '11 shine — for he was dead, but lives again ; was lost, 

And is now found ; he of my love will share the most." 

Thus Jesus spoke of the erring, prodigal son ; 

And will he not extend to us like favor, won 

By obedience to his just and holy laws ? 

Surely yes, then let us give him all the applause. 

We idle when we talk about willing our own 
salvation ; we must submit to the salvation of 
God ; we must be born again, not by the flesh 
nor the will of man, but by the will, the power of 
God. To seek out the lost, then, and to secure our 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 175 

redemption from the power of sin, is the object of 
Jesus* mission to earth, and it is because he hath 
the ability, both to the choice and the power of 
our salvation, and that he comes to us by his 
w^ord, his providence, and his Spirit, and, in his 
loving interest for the salvation of our souls, 
inclines us to choose him, that we are enabled to 
choose at all the wav of life, and live. Does this 
look like a choice of human, depraved volition? 
Is it not rather the choice of Christ, the choice of 
the benevolent Deity, our only Saviour? Yes, 
reason does and must see a necessity for the inter- 
position of Divine will to life I Must see that, 
without this Divine will to life, humanity, lost, 
must wail for ever the universal wreck of her 
happiness. 

•'For what is a man profited if he shall gain the 
whole world and lose his own soul ? or, what shall a 
man give in exchange for his soul ?" These impor- 
tant questions are an argument of Jesus, by which 
he would incline us to the choice of true happiness ; 
and since our choice of destination to the life 
everlasting is dependent on the predetermining 
choice of Christ, the riches of his love as exhibited 
to us in the predestination of our souls to eternal 
life, we should accept the offered choice ; if we do 
not, we are lost souls, and the possession of the 



176 PROSE AND POETRY. 

whole world could not happify our immortal 
spirits laboring in sin. It is the grace of God that 
saves souls. By grace we enter into the grace of 
salvation ; because of grace abounding in the gift 
of life we enter in, or it is freely given to us to enter 
in. Now, in the tenth chapter of the Gospel of St. 
Mark, the Saviour teaches us the way to Christ ; 
the question is plainly asked, the answer is given 
in the same beauty of simplicity : " Good Master ! 
what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?'' 
"Verily I say unto you," says Jesus, '' whoever 
shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little 
child, he shall not enter therein.'' ISTow this lost 
soul, it appears, was in quest of eternal life, and 
he ran to Jesus, and propounded the question to 
him. Jesus said: "Knowest thou the command- 
ments?'' "All these have I kept from my youth 
up," said the young man; "but I have not found 
eternal life. "What lack I yet?" Jesus looked 
iipon him and loved him; he was in the riglit 
way; he had qualified himself for eternal life, so 
far as man can qualify himself, as he supposed, and 
yet he lacked something, he knew, but knew not 
what that something was. With an anxious mind 
he ran -to Jesus : " I am in quest of eternal life ; 
my soul is not satisfied with its portion ; I have 
l^earched the Scriptures; I have kept the com- 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 177 

mandments; I have done all I can; I have pre- 
pared the way; I no relief can find: Jesus, Master, 
what lack I yet?'' 

We should particularly notice that human 
reason, in her quest, brought this young man to 
Christ; we should notice that he was kindly re- 
ceived ; and we should also notice that he lacked but 
one thing, and that that was everj^ thing to him. 
He had not yet learned that justification unto life 
is the treasure from heaven. Human reason 
sought a justification in the deeds of the law, but 
found it not. In the search, however, he found 
Christ coming in the way; and presents him- 
self, where reason fails, to the Saviour for further 
instructions. He seems to have been in earnest in 
the pursuit of life : " What lack I yet ? I wait thy 
further command." Well might Jesus love him; 
for here is an ardor and anxiety on the part of 
this young man in relation to his salvation, that is 
lovable, most lovable: ^'What lack I yet? I am 
determined in my search ; no sacrifice will be too 
dear ; I have done much already ; I have kept all 
the commandments : what lack I yet?'* 

Human reason, the proud guardian of man's 

destiny in this fallen world, calculated on some 

great sacrifice, and was prepared to make it ; but 
8* 



178 PROSE AND POETRY. 

she was not prepared to jHeld up herself into the 
hands of another. 

Jesus looked upon him, and loved him, and j»aid: 
" One thing thou lackest. Go sell all thy goods, and 
give to the poor ; then come, take up thy cross, fol- 
low me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.'* 
And the young man went away sorrowful, for he 
was very rich. He was not prepared to make the 
sacrifice required ; he was not prepared to receive 
the kingdom of God. He lacked but one thing, 
and that one thing he was not prepared to do. 
He, therefore, went away sorrowful. Had he been 
as a little child, he would have done as Jesus bade 
him; he would have received the kingdom of 
God. But it is asked: How could he, being a 
man, receive the kingdom of God as a little child ? 
Jesus has answered this question also: He could 
have been born of the Spirit then and there, by 
the will and power of God, without violence to 
his physical man, and as a child of heaven. 

But he went away sorrowful Perhaps if noble 
reason had been as willing to sacrifice self and 
self-love as to keep the commandments ; had he 
been willing to give up all to the sovereign mercy 
of God, peradventure he had not gone away sor* 
rowful. 



THE SALVATION OF THE SOUL. 179 

We are explicitly taught, however, that we 
cannot do any thing which will enable us to 
inherit eternal life. We can do nothing but re- 
ceive the grace of God, which brings salvation. 
The condition of the acceptance of the grace of 
God is not the doing of any thing to bring salva- 
tion, but it is the receiving of the offered grace of 
God which brings salvation. The very perform- 
ance of the condition, therefore, is a virtual sur- 
render to the sovereign mercy of God, in order 
to the soul's destination, at the hand of the 
merciful God, who hath mercy on whom he will 
have mercy. 

l^ow, if we lack but one thing, and will submit 
our proud and sinful souls, which we can do, to 
the sovereign mercy of God, in order to our bouI's 
destination, we think we will not go away sor- 
rowful. The entrance of light shall give life, and 
we shall live for evermore. If we stay away, we 
know we shall perish, and if we come to him, we 
will be kindly received and loved; for he loves 
lost souls ; and if we come to him aright, lacking 
nothing, it is his pleasure, his purpose, and his pre- 
rogative to save. 

We claim, rightfully, rationally claim the choice 
of our destiny. And there is an appeal to our 
reason by a powerful motive of love — a love that 



180 PROSE AND POETRY. 

is life, and stronger than death. A Saviour ia 
ready, able, and willing to redeem us. ! will we 
accept ? Will we choose him and live ? Will we 
make our election sure ? Will we save our souls ? 
Shall the great reprieve, which props our house of 
clay, be ours in vain ? Shall the love of God, as 
exhibited to us in the glorious plan of salvation, 
be ours in vain ? 0, let us save our souls ! 

*^For what is a man profited if he shall gain the 
whole world and lose his own soul?" 



TO SARAH. 181 



TO SARAH. 

O, MAY thy life with peace be blest ! 

The wish is ardent from my soul — 
The peace that heals the wounded breast, 

And lifts the heart o'er earth's control. 

And when beyond the grave's dark bound 
Thy vital breath divine shall wend, 

O, may thy better life be crowned 
With ev'ry joy Heaven doth blend. 



182 PROSE AND POETRY. 



THE BUSY-BODY 

Did you ever see a busy-body, 

A rattling, tattling, talking thing 
In human shape, a flippant tongue of lire, 

To poison with its deadly sting ? 

Did you ever note in his daily rounds. 
The scorched track he leaves behind ? 

The breaking heart-strings and the bleeding wounds, 
The workings of a little mind ? 

The lone prairie, swept by destroying fire. 
Leaves in its rear a blackened plain ; 

And the tall, green grass, which in beauty bloomed, 
By the fiery element slain. 

The beautiful spring, in '' mantle of green," 

With smiling face and sun so warm. 
May in one short night be robbed of her sheen. 

By the frost and the pelting storm. 



THE BUSY-BODY. 183 

As the devouring flame consumes the grass, 

And withers by its heated breath, 
So the darkened shadow of scandal's glass 

Falls heavy on the good man's death. 

As the frost in springtime nips the flower, 

It ne'er resumes its early bloom; 
So the heart that's bent by scandal's power, 

Enshrouded is in midnight gloom. 



184 PROSE AND POETRY. 



TO ANN. 

O5 HOW shall I measure the flight 
Or track of thy spirit unfurled ? 

It dwells in the regions of light, 
And sweetly encircles the world ! 

"Where angels in purity move, 

It lingers in ecstasy there ; 
Drinks deep of the ocean of love, 

And weeps over woe and despair. 

It loves the sweet dew-drops that lie 
Upon the lone wilderness flowers ; 

On wings of imagining fly, 

And lingers 'neath beautiful bowers. 

0, how shall I measure the flight 
Or track of thy spirit unfurled ? 

It dwells in the regions of light. 
And sweetly encircles the world ! 



soKe, 18& 



SONG. 

A SONG for thee, dearest, 

I send from afar, 
Where my feet have been roaming 

Without guide or star. 
Wilt thou set it to music, 

And sing when I come, 
Disheartened and weary, 

Back to my home ? 

Let the tune be a zephyr 

Melodious and free, , 
As true unto nature 

As thou art to me ; 
Which thy heart can embrace 

As it would with a friend, 
And my words and thy music 

In melody blend. 



186 PROSE ANP POETRY. 

Not a sad tone nor gay one, 

But a half-way between; 
High gladness, deep sorrow, 

Let it intervene. 
That so it interprets 

By musical art 
How we laugh when we meet, 

And shed tears when we part 



MOLLIE RAY. 1S7 



WILLIE TO MOLLIE. 

I WILL not strike the harp to kings, 
But love shall tune the pensive lay ; 

111 touch with skill its tunefal strings, 
And sing of thee, sweet MoUie Ray* 

Let fortune reign in splendid pride, 
Fond of excess and rich display ; 

With sweet simplicity my guide, 
I'd live and die with MoUie Ray. 

Were I of fortune's smile possessed, 
While on me shone her brightest ray, 

A secret pang would rend my breast, 
K wanting thee, sweet MoUie Ray. 

How canst thou witness my despair. 
And bid me from thee ever stray ? 

Show me a girl but half so fair. 
And I'll abandon MoUie Ray. 



Ids PROSE ANP POETRY, 

Such charms as thine are rarely found, 
They bloom in Winter like as May ! 

Go vainly search the earth around. 
They're only found with MoUie Ray. 

Should cold neglect, contempt, and scorn, 
My ardent vows of love repay, 

^These eyes her absent form would mourn^ 
This heart would bleed for Mollie Ray. 

What then could soothe this burning breast 
When hope had winged her final way ? 

O Mollie, make me ever blest ! 
And ever blest be Mollie Ray. 



A VISIOK. 189 



A VISION. 

Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the 
throne on high not a single star quivered ; but the 
deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly 
vibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific light- 
ning revelled in angry mood through the cloudy 
chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power 
exerted over its terror by the illustrious Franklin ! 
Even the boisterous winds unanimously came forth 
from their mystic homes, and blustered about as if 
to enhance by their aid the wildness of the scene. 

At such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human 
sympathy my very spirit sighed; but instead thereof, 

** My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide — 
My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy,** came to my side. 

She moved like one of those bright beings pictured 
in the sunny w^lks of fancy's Eden by the romantic 
and young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by 
her own transcendent loveliness. So soft was her 
stop, it failed to make even a sound, and but for the 



J.90 PROSE AND PGETKY. 

magical thrill imparted by her genial touch, as other 
unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away 
unperceived — unsought. A strange sadness rested 
upon her features, like icy tears upon the robe of 
December, as she pointed to the contending ele- 
ments without, and bade me contemplate the two 
beings presented. 

The name of my welcome visitor was Meditation. 
The objects she bade me contemplate were War and 
Peace. In the right- hand of Peace was a branch 
of olive, in the left a dewy cluster of the richest 
balm that ever grew in Gilead. 0, I cannot paint 
her as she seemed to me ! 

She seemed a seraph sent to teach us how to be ; 
So gentle, so patient, so retiring was she. 

And yet, within her modest bosom lay stern deter- 
mination for her rights to contend. No sophistry 
her heart could contaminate, or her judgment mis- 
lead. 

List ! methinks I hear his voice : 

'' The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his 
way, before his works of old. 

" I was set up from everlasting, from the begin- 
ning, or ever the earth was. 

" When there were no depths, I was brought forth ; 
when there were no fountains abounding with water. 



A VISION, 191 

" Before the mountains were settled, before the 
hills was I brought forth. 

"While as yet he had not made the earth, nor 
the fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the 
world. 

: "When he prepared the heavens, I was there; 
when he set a compass upon the face of the depth. 

"When he established the clouds above; when 
he strengthened the fountains of the deep. 
- " When he gave to the sea his decree, that the 
waters should not pass his commandment ; when he 
appointed the foundations of the earth. 

" Then I was by him as one brought up with him ; 
and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before 
him. Rejoicing in the habitable part of his earth; 
and my delights were with the sons of men. I pro- 
mised them serenest bliss, but not content, God's holy 
behest they defied, entailing thereby all the misera- 
ble corruption to which flesh is heir — dissension 
and war propagating throughout time. Since then 
my habitations have been vacillating and uncertain. 
Childhood's happy heart to me is a favorite resting- 
place ; but often, alas ! when human nature develops 
itself I am driven away ! In rural retirement I love 
to dwell. There the high thoughts, the ambitious 
hopes of mortal aspirations to disturb my equa- 
uimity seldom obtrude ! There the broad basis 



192 PROSE AND POETRY* 

upon whicli the magnificent temple of earthly fame 
is erected, my waking meditations disturbs not, 
and when sleep asserts her reign haunts not my 
dreams. Humble and easily attained is my every 
desire." 

Hark ! a sound so terrific and awful meets my ear, 
I fancy it comes from the lowest depths of the low- 
est deep. *Tis the voice of War, a convulsed na- 
tion answers ! Mark well the hellish import of hjs 
words, the fiendish sneer pervading his counte- 
nance observe ! But what avails a description ? 
Before the world he stands the greatest terror, a^ 
numberless orphans, uncounted widows testify. 
"With delight he surveys the bleeding hearts lying 
prostrate at his feet ! The manifold groans of the 
wounded and dying never drew from him a tear ! 
Hark! I am sure I never heard more dreadful 
words : 

"Destruction is my mission ! Since the creation 
of the world, my guilty ambition has hurled into 
eternity no less than fourteen hundred thousand 
millions of souls ! Conquest is my life, obtained at 
any price. Then why contend V 

The silver lute of valor was perfectly tuned ; no 
discordant notes fell upon the ear, like sometimes 
occur in the studied harmony of words which man 
has mind to frame or voice to chant, as she thus 



A VISION. 193 

responded : " So long as I have a votary or patriot- 
ism a friend, the servile knee shall never be bowed 
of America's free sons. To any thing illegal, un- 
constitutional, or unjust, never, never shall they 
submit!" 

Shall valor's appeal in vain be made ? Ah, no ! 
Methinks I see the brave, vigorous men of the 
JSTorth, the voluptuous youths of the South, with 
armor well girded on, marching forth in battle 
array against the foe who our rights would dare 
assail. Methinks I see an aged man, whose locks 
are white as snow, whose feeble form is supported 
by a well-worn staff, raise his head, and, listening, 
hold his breath to hear the well-known notes of 
martial music ! Notes which sent a thrill to his 
youthful bosom, cause him now to forget the in- 
firmities of age ! With enthusiasm he casts away 
his staff, and once more shoulders his musket in his 
country's defence ! Methinks I see an aged mother, 
whose trembling frame is bending over the grave, 
clasp her darling boy to her bosom, and bid him 
the patriotic number go swell, and " Come back in 
triumph, or come not again." She tells him the 
pearl of mighty price, for which his forefathers 
^'fought, bled, and died," should be by him pre- 
served — should be by him enlarged, else indeed a 

useless steward prove himself. She tells him to show 
9 



1&4 PROSE AND POETRY. 

the world that in an American soldier there is 
something — in the cause he espouses something — in. 
the name he bears something — in the country he 
defends something for more than any common 
danger makes him equal ; and that, whether right or 
wrong, our country's privileges shall be defended, 
and that " he who conquers shall find a stubborn 
foe/ 



I'll love theb. 195 



I^LL LOVE THEE. 

I 'll love thee as long as I live, 
Because thou hast ever a smile, 

And words in kind accents to give, 
My loneliest tinae to beguile. 

When those who should cherish me, never 
Doth naught but many foibles see, 

I can turn, dear one, to thee ever 
For the sweet balm of sympathy. 

And 0, my soul-love for thee beameth 
More pure, more bright than star-lit dew ! 

And thy earnest love for me seemeth 
To stamp all else beside untrue. 

I will never quench the flame of love, 

Though it consumed the hopes of youth ; 

But, e'en as a lorn, forsaken dove, 
I '11 prove in death its sacred truth. 

And when my life's declining star. 

Obscured by death, no more shall shine ; 

I '11 think of thee 'mid skies afar, 
And still, O, still, I '11 call thee mine. 



196 PROSE AND POETRY, 



SONG. 

AiE.-— *^ Those Evening Bells." 

The village bell ! the village bell ! 
On loving beart its music fell 
In otber days and happier time, 
"When first I heard its soothing chime/ 

Whilst now I list to thy dear sound, 
My heart doth leap with joyous bound ! 
It tells of home, and mother dear, 
Her silvery voice and tones so clear! 

In childhood's hour, I list its call — 
Relinquished hoop, and bat, and ball ; 
"With willing steps repaired to school ; 
My teacher loved, obeyed his rule. 

And as it called each 8abbath day, 

I happy was to wend my way 

God's praise to hear, by one whose tongue 

With sacred truths divinely rung. 



SONG. 197 

But sadder strains — I know them well — 
My heart doth sicken while I tell — 
Of one whose beauty passed away 
In gay Springtime and morn's first ray. 

'Tis ever so with earthly sounds, 
The sweetest strain with woe abounds : 
There is a world of peace and love ! 
No discord's there in heaven above! 



198 PROSE AND POETRY. 



TO MARIA. 

Tey form is like a ray of light, 

That brightly gleams, 
Shedding upon the clouds of night 

Its clearest beams. 

For of thy worth the noblest part 

Is all unseen ; 
Thou hast an angel's soul and heart, 

I humbly ween. 



The thoughts that thy high soul doth know, 

Are all humane ; 
From purest fount they ever flow ; 

There's naught profane. 

I strive to emulate thy worth, 

'T is all in vain; 
Thy soul has had immortal birth, 

'Tis God's again. 



no MARIA. 199 

The glory of the King of kings, 

Already' 8 thine: 
may like joy on angels' wings 

Be borne to mine. 

Then my wrapt soul, in vision bright, 

"Will Jesus see ; 
Will share the bliss with pure delight 

Now known to thee. 

Sorrows of earth will then have fled, 

Or lost their sting ; 
And when I'm numbered with the dead, 

To Christ I '11 cling. 

O wilt thou, loved one, in thy prayers, 

Eemember me ? 
Remember me to Him who bears 

The Cross for thee! 



200 PROSE AND POETRY, 



* A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK. 

One of the heart's dearest treasures is she — the 
gentle, loving help -meet of our pastor! Never, 
while memory derives pleasure from communing 
with the loved images stored away in its garners. 
or grasps at the sunbeams reflected upon its walls, 
or while earthly sounds cause the harp-strings of 
the soul to vibrate with soothing melodies, can we 
forget how she looked, sitting, as was her wont 
during the long summer afternoons, in the vine- 
eheltered portico of the old parsonage, or the 
tender, heartfelt cadence of her voice as she time 
and again gave us affectionate welcome to that con- 
secrated abode. How quiet, how peaceful every 
thing appeared there ! On each side of the pretty 
sand-covered walk extending from the gate to the 
house, were flower-beds carefully tended by the 
pastor's favorite daughter. Here, in early spring, 
bloomed the daftbdil, the hyacinth, and the beauti- 
ful monthly rose; and when autumn robed the 
woods in Scarlet splendor, the hardy chrysanthe- 



A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK. 201 

mum unfolded its varied - colored blooms — fit 
emblem of a constant friend, who appears most 
lovely when all others forsake. But let us not 
linger so long without, even among flower-beds, 
when loving heart and tender voice are waiting to 
welcome us within. Ah ! yes, upon the threshold 
stands "a mother in Israel," the pastor's wife. How 
cordially she shakes our hand, and what a motherly 
kiss she bestows upon us ; and how kindly, too, 
she inquires about each member of our mother's 
household ! A child of affliction herself, she ever 
sympathizes with the sick and the sorrowing ; and 
many a burdened heart has been lightened by the 
consolation which she knew so well how to admin- 
ister — consolation drawn from God's own word, 
and the merciful dealings of His providence. She 
was faithful in all the relations of life, but her 
unmitigated devotion to her husband was, in our 
eyes, one of the most charming features of her cha- 
racter. Though a few scattered white locks alone 
remained of the dark -brown masses which once 
shaded his noble brow, she loved him not a whit 
the less : her affection for the husband of her youth, 
the chosen companion of her earthly pilgrimage, 
steadily increasing as years passed by. 

An instance of her self-sacrificing devotion we 
will record : One bright afternoon she was sitting, 
9* 



202 PROSE AND POETRY. 

as described in the commencement of tMs sketch, 
in the vine-sheltered portico. She was alone, and 
yet not alone, for fancy was busy ; and well might 
we guess, if an arch smile and speaking counte- 
nance betray the workings of the mind, that it was 
planning a pleasant surprise for the loved and 
absent. Yes, this precious woman had received, as 
a May-day present from her mother, a generous 
supply of money, and she was thinking how she 
would make each one of her family, especially her 
husband, the recipient of its benefits. Just as she 
had well-nigh matured a very satisfactory plan, 
footsteps which she never mistook — they were 
those of our pastor — approached. "With a face 
beaming with love, she rises to meet him. What a 
change has come over her countenance — a troubled 
expression, despite her efibrts to conceal it, has 
usurped the place of the joyous one ! One glance 
at the face she had long since learned to read as a 
book, convinced her that all was not right with her 
husband — that something was weighing heavily 
upon his mind, or that some cherished object could 
not be accomplished, and her heart, true to the 
nature of woman's heart, felt the pang more acutely 
perhaps than his. Feeling that it was her right to 
share his troubles, she met him, and gently laying 
her hand upon his arm, inquired wnat the source 



' A LEAFLET FROM LIFE'S BOOK* 203 

of trouble was. Handing her a letter received by 
the afternoon's mail, lie took a seat without utter- 
ing a word; the emotions which heaved his full 
heart were too overpowering to allow conversation. 
After reading it slowly and carefully, the wife 
raised her eyes from the letter to the face of her 
husband, with a most puzzled expression. In it 
she saw nothing to occasion trouble, but, on the 
contrary, much to inspire the deepest gratitude — 
the highest joy. 

At the earnest solicitation of many members, 
our pastor had sought and obtained the consent 
of his church to occasionally supply with gospel 
food a flock of a distant fold, deprived by death 
ot its aged shepherd. And the letter was from 
several of this fold, who urged him, in behalf of a 
goodly number who had attended with deep 
interest upon his ministry, and had been con- 
firmed thereby in the determination '^ to testify to 
the world the goodness and love of Christ, by 
putting him on in the ordinance of baptism,'* to 
come and "plant them in the likeness of the 
Saviour's death." 

But alas ! our pastor was a poor man, and had 
not the means with which to defray the expenses 
of the trip ; and his own people had been remiss in 
the discharge of their obligation to pay a promised 



204 PROSE AND POETRY. 

salary. Hence his trouble on the present occasion. 
He^ however, who had been with him in six 
troubles, was ready to carry him through the 
seventh. In this instance, as in innumerable 
others, his angel-wife was the instrument in the 
Lord's hands to relieve his burdened heart, and 
point him to One who has promised that "every 
one that asketh receiveth." When he had told her 
the want of means to go would prevent his enjoy- 
ing this Christ-like privilege, her countenance again 
grew radiant with joy and gratitude, as she ex- 
claimed with child-like enthusiasm, "You can go ! 
you can go !" Then, and not till then, did our 
pastor know of that aged mother's May-day present 
to a daughter who counted it no sacrifice to relin- 
quish her own cherished plans to promote the cause 
of her blessed Redeemer. 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 205 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

From the fiftli to the fifteenth century the sable 
pall of ignorance and superstition spread over the 
whole of Europe. Learning was almost extin- 
guished; the pure doctrines of the Cross were 
adulterated, and the Romish Church gained com- 
plete ascendency over the minds and fortunes of 
men. But this deplorable state of affairs was not 
always to continue. In 1587 the Reformation 
began, which has well been styled the most im- 
portant event that has taken place since the first 
promulgation of Christianity. Simultaneously with 
the revival of religion was the revival of learning ; 
and the march of improvement has been steadily 
progressing until it has reached a high point in 
this the nineteenth century. Let us contemplate 
some of the leading features of the age ; and though 
but little more than half of this period has elapsed, 
we safely assert, that never have the arts and 
sciences advanced so rapidly; never has knowledge 
b^en 60 widely diffused ; never have such import- 



206 PROSE AND POETRY. 

ant revolntions agitated the world ; and never have 
the glorious truths of the Christian religion heen 
so extensively disseminated as in the nineteenth 
century. 

During this eventful period, the long list of 
earth^s battle-fields has been extended by the addi- 
tion of the sanguinary conflicts of Leipsic, "Water- 
loo, New Orleans, the Crimea, and Lucknow. 
The military exploits of this age surpass in many 
respects those of any preceding period. A con- 
queror such as Bonaparte the world never saw. 
The contests which he waged against the allied 
powers of Europe are the most wonderful on 
record, in the extent and rapidity of his conquests, 
and their influence upon the nations of the world. 
He stands forth upon the pages of history as the 
most remarkable potentate of modern times : ele- 
vated, at the early age of twenty-seven, from the 
rank of a common soldier to the chief command of 
the French army; at thirty, elected First Consul; 
and at thirty-five, proclaimed Emperor of France. 

A striking contrast to the ambitious Napoleon, ia 
the hero of Lucknow — the brave, the pious Have- 
lock. Instead of laying waste unoffending cities, 
he came to the relief of the distressed and help- 
less ; and though he stood high as a military com- 
mander, he was not ashamed of the gospel of 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 207 

Christ, but preached its unsearchable riches to the 
soldiers of his regiment, and baptized them with 
his own hands. But he sleeps in victory ! His 
battles are over ; and he is now where the scorch- 
ing rays of the Indian sun, and the fierce combats 
of opposing forces, can never come. 

The present century is distinguished by great 
political revolutions, which have thrown in commo- 
tion the nations of the earth. When the year 1800 
dawned upon France, she was a republic ; in 1804, 
she became an empire ; in 1815, after Bonaparte 
was deposed, Louis the Eighteenth was restored to 
the throne of his ancestors ; and now another Na- 
poleon reigns, under the title of Emperor of the 
French. How many bloody battles were fought to 
produce these changes in the government of France ! 
and what a striking illustration are they of the mu- 
tability of human institutions ! In 1806, by the 
resignation of the reigning emperor, the empire of 
Germany came to an end ; and in 1832, Poland was 
erased from the list of kingdoms by its incorpora- 
tion with Russia, 

What changes have been wrought in our own 
land ! In 1801 the United States extended only to 
the Mississippi river on the west, and to Florida on 
the south. In 1803 Louisiana was ceded to the 
Union by France, for $15,000,000. Florida was also 



208 PROSE AND POETRY. 

ceded by Spain in 1820. Thus has the United 
States acquired a right to these valuable posses- 
sions, which cost their first owners so much death 
and sufiering. In 1539 the romantic De Soto and 
his followers wandered over the sunny plains of the 
land of flowers, in search of El Dorado. After 
marching over half the continent, they met not the 
realization of their golden dreams. "Worn out with 
fatigue and disappointment, De Soto sickened and 
died, and his remains lie undisturbed beneath the 
turbid waters of that mighty river of which he was 
the discoverer. Spain, once a wealthy and power- 
ful kingdom, now occupies a low rank among the 
nations of Europe, and the United States quietly 
enjoys the immense possessions she once claimed. 
In 1848 California was obtained by treaty from 
Mexico; and now the "star-spangled banner'' un- 
folds its bright colors from the Atlantic to the 
Pacific. England has forced China to open her 
ports, so long closed to the civilized world; and by 
the negotiations of an American commodore, com- 
munications have been established between Japan 
and the United States. 

As before stated, the present century is remark- 
able for advances made in the arts and sciences. 
Steam, as applied to machinery, has wrought won- 
ders. The first railroad resembling those now in 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 209 

use, was the " Stockton and Darlington Railway," 
completed in 1825. But the first practical pxhibi- 
tion of the powers of a steam locomotive engine 
was made at the opening of the "Liverpool and 
Manchester Railroad" on the 15th of September, 
1830. In 1856 upwards of one hundred and fifty 
separate lines of railway, the total length being 
8115 miles, had been completed in the United 
Kingdom of Great Britain. The increase of rail- 
roads in the United States is unparalleled. In 1828 
there were only three miles of railroad ; now there 
are 25,000. The advantages accruing from rail- 
roads in the rapid transportation of goods and pas- 
sengers from one section of country to another, and 
in the increased diffusion of knowledge, may be 
considered the greatest benefits of the age. In 
1807 the first steamboat was launched upon the 
Hudson. Fifty years have gone by, and beautiful 
steamers are proudly gliding over all our principal 
rivers, along our coasts, and upon the broad bosoms 
of the great lakes of British America. 

The Pilgrim Fathers were three months perform- 
ing their perilous voyage across the Atlantic: their 
descendants sail over the same space in little more 
than ten days: a striking example of the progress 
of our age. Voyages by steam are performed along 
the Mediterranean, and along the Arabian and Red 



210 PROSE AND POETRY. 

Seas. Indeed, '^almost every sea and ocean on the 
surface of the globe is traversed by steam-vessels — 
promoting a rapid intercourse between all the 
nations, tribes, and families of the earth." By 
steam navigation commerce is extended, knowledge 
is increased, civilization is advanced, and the 
heathen world enlightened by intercourse with 
Christian nations, preparing the way for the mis- 
sionaries of the Cross, and the consequent conver- 
sion of the Gentile world. 

We come now to the greatest discovery of the 
nineteenth century, the electric telegraph. When 
we look upon a steam-engine rapidly advancing 
with its long train of cars, and hurrying on its 
freight of many tons : when we stand by the river's 
edge, or on the shore of the mighty deep, and 
behold some gallant steamer steadily and swiftly 
pursuing its way, in opposition to wind and tide, 
we feel that man, though fallen, is noble still, pos- 
sessing an intellect capable of devising and execut- 
ing great things; but when we contemplate the 
electric telegraph, we can scarcely persuade our- 
selves that it is the result of human research and 
human skill. To use the language of another : " The 
principle, or agent, which displays its terrific energy 
in the awful volcano, the fearful hurricane, and the 
destroying earthquake, is the same as, subdued by 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 211 

science and human art, is rendered useful, to society 
in a vast variety of ways, and in no way more pro- 
minently than in the electric telegraph." By this 
agency the principal towns of the United States are 
closely connected. Friends thousands of miles 
apart can converse as if in the same hall. How 
many heart-cheering messages have thus been borne 
upon the lightning's wing ! and in the late revival 
it has been made the speedy messenger of the glad 
tidings of God's converting grace. Submarine 
wires encased in gutta percha connect Europe with 
the British Isles; and the cable of the telegraph 
between Europe and America is now laid upon the 
bed of the ocean ; and the time is doubtless near 
when all the grand divisions of the globe shall by 
this means be brought in converse. But to the 
philanthropist and the Christian the improvement 
in the art of printing by the application of steam- 
power, stands preeminent. As an illustration of 
the rapidity with which printing is done by this 
method, a machine of this kind throws off from 
nine hundred to twelve hundred sheets in an hour. 
Books once so costly that only the most wealthy 
could afford their purchase, are now within the 
reach of every one. Newspapers, magazines, and 
periodicals of every description are daily issuing 
from the press, containing much valuable informa- 



212 PROSE AND POETRY. 

tion, and, alas! much whicli is deleterious to the 
minds and souls of men. The power wielded by 
the press is second to none on earth ; and it is a 
lamentable fact that this, the nineteenth century, is 
so prolific of that species of literature entitled 
novels, infusing into the minds of countless multi- 
tudes, especially of the rising generation, false 
notions of life, and erroneous views on the great 
subject of religion. Fortunately, however, for 
society, this is not the only literature published and 
read in this age. Many excellent works on history, 
philosophy, and theology, have been written, and 
hailed with enthusiasm by the literary world. 
What a vast amount of good has been accomplished 
by those noble institutions, the British and Foreign 
Bible Society, the American Tract Society, and the 
American Bible Society, all of which have been 
established since the dawn of the present century. 

There are many other discoveries and inventions 
of the present age, which have done much for the 
amelioration of the human race. Many a poor 
miner has had reason to thank God that Sir Hum- 
phrey Davy was ever led to construct the safet}''- 
lamp, which has been the means of preserving 
many useful lives. Lighting the streets of large 
cities with gas has been more eficctual in suppress- 
ing vice and crime than any police. Securing a 



THR NINETEENTH CENTURY. 213 

life-like shadow by the daguerrean art, has afforded 
more satisfaction to all classes of persons than any . 
preceding discovery. 

Within the last fifty-eight years many interesting 
discoveries have been made in the science of astro- 
nomy. On the first of January, 1801, Ceres, the 
first of the asteroids, was discovered. Since then 
many of these miniature planets have been seen, 
which are supposed to be the fragments of a large 
celestial body, w^hich once revolved where the 
asteroids are now seen. This remarkable dis- 
covery has given us a slight insight into those great 
changes which are taking place in the remote 
regions of space, and fills the mind with admiration 
for that Almighty Being who formed the starry 
worlds, — ''that bringeth forth their hosts by num- 
ber; that calleth them all by names." The dis- 
covery of the planet Leverrier, or Neptune, by cal- 
culation, is a signal triumph of the human mind. 
By means of the great telescope of Lord Eosse, 
many of the nebulae, once supposed to be chaotic 
masses of luminous matter, have been resolved into 
stars, giving us enlarged conceptions of the bound- 
less extent of the universe. 

The nineteenth century is distinguished by its 
long array of illustrious sculptors, musicians, artists, 
authors, statesmen, and theologians. Among sculp- 



214 PROSE AND POETRY. 

tors none stand higher than Powers, whose " E^e/ 
and whose "Greek Slave," have been the admira^ 
tion of both sides of the Atlantic. From the ear- 
liest ages of the world the sons of men have loved 
and cultivated music ; but we are persuaded that it 
has now arrived at a degree of perfection never 
before attained. The exquisite mechanism of musi- 
cal instruments, especially that of the pianoforte, is 
one of the improvements of the age. And where, 
in the annals of the world, have we an account of 
such vocal powers as those of Jenny Lind? or of 
sweeter strains than those of Thalberg and "William 
Vincent Wallace ? 

"What shall be said of the authors of the nine- 
teenth century ? In British literature, we find the 
names of Sir Walter Scott, Byron, Moore, Pollok, 
Eliza Cook, Mrs. Hemans, Macaulay, Professor 
Wilson, and Hugh Miller. Among American 
authors are conspicuous Bryant, Longfellow, Ban- 
croft, Mrs. Sigourney, and many others whose writ- 
ings have exercised a powerful influence on the age, 
corresponding in its nature to the characters of 
their respective works. Besides the authors men- 
tioned, there are travellers who have rendered their 
names immortal by contributions they have made 
to our knowledge of the distant regions of the 
globe. Such are Dr. Kane, who wrote an account 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 216 

of his search for the long-lost Sir John Franklin in 
the frozen regions of the frigid zone; and Dr. Liv- 
ingstone, who has spent sixteen years amid the 
burning sands of Africa. The Eastern Continent 
has not been without men w^ho have swayed the 
councils of nations by the w^isdom of their measures 
and the witchery of their eloquence; but in our own 
free land are we to look for the noblest statesmen 
of the nineteenth century. At its commencement 
Washington had just rested from his labors; but 
his associates, Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton, 
held a prominent position before the nation. In 
later date come J. Q. Adams, Andrew Jackson, 
Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, and Daniel "Webster. 
But to the disciples of the Prince of Peace, neither 
the warrior nor the statesman appears so glorious as 
those men of giant intellect and holy heart who 
have during the present century boldly stood forth 
before the world and contended for '-the faith once 
delivered to the saints.'' Of such are Chalmers and 
Cumming, of Scotland; Miller and Alexander, of 
' America ; and Spurgeon, the modern Wliitefield of 
the English pulpit. And there is another whom it 
would be wrong to pass in silence, Harbaugh, the 
author of that beautiful series of works whose sub- 
ject is Heaven. Who that has read these books 
can ever divest himself of their mild but powerful 



216 PROSE AND POETRY. 

influence — an influence leading his tliouglits to that 
happy world of which they speak in such soothing 
and beautiful strains. 

With regret we now introduce another phase of 
this century, which forms a painful contrast to those 
by which it is preceded. IsTotwithstanding the wide 
diffusion of religious knowledge, there are some 
who, having closed their eyes to the truth, have 
embraced and propagated the most dangerous 
errors. As instances, the Millerites, perched upon 
the highest eminences, awaiting in their white robes 
for the arrival of a specifled day on which to ascend 
to heaven; the Mormons, differing in their origin 
and system of belief from any sect that has yet 
appeared before the world; and the Spiritualists, 
who have been so abundant in the Northern States. 

The position of woman is a remarkable feature of 
this age, being in many respects far more exalted 
than ever before ; and yet, not satisfled with her 
own appropriate sphere, she has in a few instances 
sought to assume privileges belonging exclusively 
to man. Such are Lucy Stone and her strong- 
minded sisterhood, the advocates of woman's rights. 
But doubtless these errors and follies will soon be 
banished by the superior force of truth, which is 
mighty and must prevail, to the pulling down of the 
strongholds of error. 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 217 

Another circumstance worthy of notice is, that 
no universal monarchy now exists as in the days 
when Assyria, Macedonia, and Rome flourished. 
The nations of the world are becoming too enlight- 
ened to allow a few despots to exercise unlimited 
sway. Under the benign influence of Christianity 
the world is becoming better. Much of the cruelty 
of former times has been abolished ; even war is 
less terrific. Benevolent associations for the relief 
of suffering humanity have been formed all over 
the civilized world. Asylums of elegant archi- 
tecture, surrounded by beautifully embellished 
grounds, have been erected for the reception of the 
deaf, dumb, and blind. To these institutions the 
world is indebted for many bright intellects which 
otherwise would have remained in obscurity. Even 
poor little outcasts found in all large cities have 
received their share of attention. Houses of indus- 
try have been established where these little vagrants 
are taught much that is useful. Thus have many 
souls been '^snatched from hell and laid in the 
sheltering arms of Heaven.'' Missionary efforts 
have been crowned with signal success; and the 
Bible translated into the languages spoken by more 
than half the human race. England has the honor 
of devising and carrying into operation the present 
system of foreign missions. About fifty years ago 
10 



218 PROSE AND POETRY. 

the first missionaries, Carey and Hall, were sent out 
to India, and soon afterwards Newell and Judson, 
of America, were appointed to the same field. A 
feeble band, they went forth to convince the hea- 
then of the sin of idolatry, and turn them to the 
service of the living and true God. Many, even in 
this favored age, regarded foreign missions as a 
visionary scheme ; but those pious ambassadors 
knew that they were obeying the command of 
Christ : '' Go forth into all the world and preach 
the gospel to every creature ;'* and they bade adieu 
to home and friends, and braved the dangers of the 
stormy deep, leaning upon the precious promise, 
^' Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of 
the world." Since then many self-denying men 
have devoted themselves to the missionary work. 
Need we detail the results ? Go ask the converted 
Hindoo, the Chinaman turned from the worship of 
his idols, and the Christianized inhabitants of the 
islands of the sea, what they think of this glorious 
enterprise of the nineteenth century, and they will 
answer: By their instrumentality we have been 
brought out of darkness into the marvellous light 
and liberty of the gospel. But, if not before then, 
at the last day will all the glorious eftects of mis- 
sions be known ; when that vast multitude, re- 
deemed out of every nation, kindred and tongue. 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 219 

shall bo welcomed to the courts of Heaven, there to 
sing everlasting praises to the ''Lamb of God," and 
there to meet the heralds of the Cross who led them 
to see Him as their Saviour. 

Thus have we cursorily reviewed the triumphs of 
this great age — an age in which more has already 
been done towards the civilization and renovation 
of the world than in any age since the Christian era. 
And yet the volume of its history is but half com- 
plete. Nearly half of its years, and, it may be, half 
of the mighty record of its achievements, is yet un- 
told. The future, as it unrolls the panorama of 
wonderful events to the eye, may yet eclipse the 
years that have passed — astonishing as have been 
their developments. 

One would think that the balance of this glorious 
century might be well employed in filling up the 
outline of its present achievements : in perfecting 
its inventions ; in extending the utility and applica- 
tions of these great instrumentalities of good which 
have already been brought to light ; in laying ofi*, 
adorning, and beautifying the magnificent field 
which the march of mind has compassed ; and that 
the historian and author might find ample employ- 
ment in the materials of the half century already 
elapsed. 

But who shall presume to set bounds or limits to 



220 PROSE AND POETRY. 

the mighty march of this century — to that progress 
which impels civilization onward, as the comet is 
hurled in its infinite journey around the firmament? 
Who shall say that the inventive resources of 
genius are exhausted — that the future has no re- 
serve, no depths of profounder wisdom yet to be 
fathomed — no fields yet vdder and wider to be 
explored — no more wonderful plans to be worked 
out by that Divinity, which is so manifestly devel- 
oping the destiny of man? Who shall say that 
science, with all its boasted attainments, may not 
yet be in the primer of its learning — when future 
years shall have poured upon the world the meri- 
dian splendors which are yet to appear ? She has 
gathered beautiful pebbles on the beach, but the 
dark, unfathomed caves of ocean have not yet 
emptied at her feet the gems which are richly trea- 
sured there. The morning has come, the sun of 
knowledge has risen on the horizon, but it has not 
yet performed its course ; it has but begun the 
revolution of glorious light which it is destined 
to make, and before which all clouds and vapors 
shall be dispelled. ^'Knowledge shall increase," 
is the fiat which has gone forth, and none but God 
who issued that decree shall set limits to that 
increase. Its fountain is no less than the mind of 
Deit3^ It draws its illumination from the great 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 221 

ceutral sun of that omniscient intellect which is the 
light of the everlasting universe. Who shall say 
that the full measure of its revelation to man, 
through the medium of nature, has yet been seen, 
or that He will not evolve from the vast treasury of 
his wisdom and his goodness an increasing degree 
of knowledge, until ignorance shall be torn as a 
covering from the hideous vice and depravity of 
man — until light shall drive from the world the 
dark legionary of superstition, ignorance, and hell. 
The philosopher and divine cannot fail to per- 
ceive that religion and knowledge go hand in 
hand — that God has chosen light, in the moral 
world, as the instrument to dispel the darkness of 
error and evil, as, in the physical world, to chase 
away the gloom of night. "Will he not, then, 
impel onward the intellectual march of the world, 
until knowledge all over the earth shall pave the 
pathway for the chariot-wheels of religion and mil- 
lennial glory ? 

How much of so great a destiny is reserved 
for this century must be left to the unborn his- 
torian to write. "We can only indulge in those 
bright anticipations which the past and the pre- 
sent inspire. Judging from these, that fature 
volume of the history of this century will reveal 



222 PROSE AND POETRY. 

to its readers other great triumphs of genius, other 
inventions, and other evidences of the wisdom and 
goodness of that Supreme Being who has so sig- 
nally favored this proud age. 



TO GOD ALL TRUSTS BELONG. 223 



TO GOD ALL TRUSTS BELONG. 

'' Why is it that the midnight moon" 

No moment stays ? 
And why the sweetest bloom so soon 

Droops and decays ? 

Why is it that the noonday sun 

So soon descends? 
And why the honor nobly won 

So quickly ends ? 

Why sends the west its brightest ray 

As sinks the sun ? 
Why sings the swan its sweetest lay 

When life is run ? 

Why is the rainbow's gorgeous hue 

Begirt with clouds ; 
And when 'tis brightest, dark clouds too, 

The earth enshrouds ? 



224 PROSE ANDPOETRY. 

And why does friendship's golden link 

So bright appear. 
Just as the foot has reached the brink 

Where ruin's near? 

Alas ! 'tis always thus on earth ! 

The dearest tie, 
In love vouchsafed to mortal worthy 

Doth quickly die ! 

I'll never trust the midnight moon, 

Though full and bright ; 
Nor cling to earthly joys, so soon 

To fade from sight. 

I'll never gaze on noonday sun, 

In heaven high, 
But with the thought his course 's soon run, 

His light must die. 

I'll never love the rainbow's hue. 

Though bright and fair ; 
For when 'tis brightest, dark clouds too 

Are lurking there. 

I'll never trust to friendship's chain, 

Though bright and strong ; 
But to the Lamb for sinners slain 

All trusts belong. 



A FRAGMENT. 225 



A FRAGMENT. 

The glorious sun was hast'ning 
To bid adieu to earth; his farewell ray 
"Was bright'ning, and his lengthening shadows 
Casting through the balmy spring-time air. 

All nature sought repose, and woo'd, by its 
Soft lullaby, the busy throng to rest. 

A strange, sweet sympathy upon my spirit 
Fell, which with the hour chimed in unison ; 
And gently touched the mystic chords 
That bind us to the spirit land, and swell 
The soul with love unutterable and full of joy! 

Led by unseen hand, my footsteps wander'd 
To the habitation of the dead. I stood 
Beside a full grown grave — yea, two — 
Blent in one : In life, "two bodies — one heart; 
In death, two bodies — one grave." 

And a charm, sad and holy, 
Enchain'd me there. It was the last resting 
Place earth had to give those who, years agone 
Had fondled in their arms, and to their 
Daughter's orphan child spoke words 
Of love and comfort. Sad mem'ries of the past 



226 AFRAGMEN-T. 

Crowded thick and fast upon my brain. 
The funeral throng, with solemn, measured 
Tread ; the crapen hearse ; the earth arrayed 
In sable garbs — as if it gave in sullen 
Mood the spirits lent — all, all appear'd, in quick 
Review, before my spirit's gaze. And 
Repeating yet the still, small voice, 
, Which 'whispered : " I am the resurrection 
And the life, saith the Lord ; he that believeth 
In me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
Live : And whosoever liveth and believeth 
In me shall never die.'' 

The strug'ling sun breaks through 
The darken'd clouds, and a bright rainbow 
Spans the arch of blue. 

The tall old cedar keeps nightly vigil, 
"While through the cypress blooms the beautiful 
Sunlight, in mellow radiance, brightens 
All around; and the eyes of heaven 
Look down in love upon those who sleep 
Beneath ! 



AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 227 



AN UKDEYOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 

jJ^The globe, that, in its present epocli, is the 
habitation and peculiar possession of the human 
race, appears, when regarded by itself, a body of 
imposing dimensions;" but when night's dark 
drapery conceals from view its varied scenery, its 
picturesque landscapes, and busy thoroughfares, its 
sunshine and shade, then it is that the eye, the 
portal of the soul, turns to the "lights in the firma- 
ment of heaven." What transcendant glories meet 
it there ! The sky, the deep blue sky, bestudded 
with glittering orbs, pavilions this earth of ours ! 
the moon in queenly majesty pursues her course 
through the chambers of heaven ! What an inspir- 
ing scene ! how elevating, how ennobling the con- 
templation of these "emblems of the Infinite!" 
" Kings have descended from their thrones" to ad- 
mire its beauty — to feel its power; "and humble 
shepherds, while watching their flocks by night, 
have beheld with rapture the blue vault of heaven, 



228 PROSE AND POETEY. 

with its tliousand shining orbs moving in silent 
grandeur, till the morning star announced the 
approach of day;" but by the astronomer — the 
pious astronomer, who views the mighty works of 
nature as step-stones to nature's God — alone, is the 
scene fully comprehended — fully appreciated. 

Though appearing, to those unacquainted with 
astronomical science, to be situated at equal dis- 
tances from us, yet shining with different degr|ps 
of intensity, as ''one star differeth from another star 
in glory;" he, by deep research, has ascertained 
that those bright worlds are not all situated at 
equal distances, but that many of them are millions 
of miles more remote than others : he knows that 
some of the smallest stars that twinkle with golden 
lustre on the bosom of night, are suns perhaps 
larger than our own proud luminary, surrounded 
by planetary worlds which receive from them light 
and heat, and the vicissitudes of day and night. 
"With telescope in hand he joins the innumerable 
host, whose movements are not noted by the com- 
mon eye — walks with Hesperus, and becomes fami- 
liar with Jupiter ! About the latter he tells many 
strange things. He says, instead of the bright 
planet which this orb appears, it is an irregular 
world, "like our globe, and has undergone similar 
convulsions." 



AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 229 

It has been estimated by the astronomer that 
there are one hundred million of stars now visible 
through the telescope, which cannot be seen by the 
unassisted eye. And is it not probable that in the 
regions of infinite space there are countless worlds 
which man, not even by the aid of the most power- 
ful magnifying - glasses, will ever behold? Far 
beyond the reach of mortal vision they wheel on 
in their rapid course, unseen, save by the eye of 
Omnipotence, or the adoring angels and seraphim 
around the throne on high. Countless as are these 
worlds, each, doubtless, has its own peculiar orbit, 
never interfering with the motions of another. 
The Power which placed them there has also 
appointed their bounds, beyond which they cannot 
pass. 

Let us take an astronomical view of the solar 
system of which we form a part. This system con- 
sists of the sun as a centre, around which the 
asteroids and the principal planets, with their satel- 
lites, revolve. During a solar year, or in an interval 
of twelve months, our earth, at a distance of one 
hundred million of miles, describes an undeviating 
circle around this great central point. " Between 
the earth and the centre of its motion there are two 
other bodies, named, on that account, the inferior 
planets ; and beyond it we find six superior orbs — • 



230 PROSE AND POETRY. 

the remotest, Neptune, being thirty times more dis- 
tant than we are from the sun." The utmost 
bounds of this complicated system are enlightened 
by the sun, its great centre. The planets which 
surround him form a geometrical series, each one 
being double the distance of its next interior planet 
from the sun. Mercury being nearest to the sun, 
and receiving from him a much greater degree of 
light and heat, is found to be the most dense of all 
the planets. The atmosphere of the planets is also 
thought to differ ; therefore, it may be as comfort- 
able at Xeptune as at Mercury. If these planets 
are all inhabited as well as our earth, what a wise 
provision of Providence is this ! each planet pre- 
cisely adapted to the peculiar situation it occupies. 
Our globe, the third planet from the sun, is most 
favorably situated in the solar system; nearly all 
the sister planets being visible to the naked eye. 
Its inhabitants may all look upon the silvery bright- 
ness of Mercury, the mild radiance of Venus, and 
the fiery splendor of Mars ; and its astronomers, by 
the aid of telescopes, may gaze upon Saturn with 
his "sky-girt rings'' and seven moons; and Jupiter 
with his belts and satellites. What a generous dis- 
play of the wisdom, power, and goodness of God ! 
When we consider that all the planets composing 
the solar system, many of them hundreds of times 



AN UNDEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 231 

larger than the globe we inhabit, are, witliout 
doubt, peopled by intelligent beings, formed to 
admire and adore the wonders of the universe, are 
not our minds impressed with the mighty power, 
benignity, and wisdom of Him who made them ? 
But when we reflect still further, that were our 
system, vast as it appears to us, to be stricken from 
the *^ Divine empire,'' it would scarcely be missed 
by His Omnipotent eye, then are we lost ; and feel 
indeed that God's ways are ''past finding out." 
What must be the immensity of the universe if 
such a system as ours is but as a grain of sand to the 
sea-shore — a drop of water to the ocean? "When 
we gaze upon the firmament of heaven, and see the 
moon "walking in beauty," and the same stars 
which shone upon our happy childhood, inspiring 
it with lofty thoughts, the first, perhaps, it ever 
entertained, we feel as if to them no change could 
come. The very same orbs, in all their wonted 
brilliancy, are nightly shining over us which Abra- 
ham, and Job, and David looked upon with pious 
admiration. " Canst thou bind the sweet influences 
of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion ? Canst 
thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season ? or canst 
thou guide Arcturus with his sons?" are beautiful 
inquiries, replete with significance, which the Lord 
put to the faithful Job; and when the "sweet 



232 PROSE AND POETRY. 

singer of Israel" considered the heavens the work 
of God's fingers, and the moon and the stars which 
He ordainedj he exclaimed, with a deep sense of his 
own impotence : '' What is man, that thou art mind- 
ful of him ? and the son of man, that thou visitest 
him?" 

The Pleiades and the bands of Orion gleam as 
brightly now as then; the same heavens proclaim 
the might of His handiwork ! But yet, even within 
the observation of mortals, there have been worlds 
which, having doubtless subserved the purpose for 
which created, have been seen to burn brighter and 
brighter as the work of their consumption pro- 
gressed, and then becoming fainter and still fainter, 
to disappear for ever from the starry host. And so 
it will be with this beautiful earth on which we live. 
*' The day of the Lord will come as a thief in the 
night; in the which the heavens shall pass away 
with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with 
fervent heat ; the earth also and the works that are 
therein shall be burned up." "When it shall have 
accomplished the end for which designed, at a day 
and hour of which we know not, it shall be con- 
sumed. 0, it seems that one look, through the 
medium of science, at the starry sky, would '' ele- 
vate the soul above vicious passions and grovelling 
pursuits;" would irresistibly lead the almost god- 



AN UNBEVOUT ASTRONOMER IS MAD. 233 

like energies of the mind to the Divine fulcrum of 
this mighty machinery ; that one look would con- 
strain man to bow in humble adoration to Him who 
"rules in the armies of heaven, and doeth His will 
among the inhabitants of earth/' An astronomer 
who can devote his life to the sublime study of the 
heavenly bodies, and not exclaim, with deep humi- 
lity of spirit, Great and marvellous are thy works, 
Lord God Almighty ! Thou art worthy to receive 
glory, and honor, and power, for thou hast " created 
all things, and for thy pleasure they were created," 
is a madman indeed. 



234 PROSE AN DPOETRl 



THE DREAM OF LOVE. 

In girlhood's bright and sunny days, 

I had a dream of joy, 
That filled my soul with sweetest lays 
And bliss without alloy. 
I saw a noble, gifted youth, 

Who stood amidst the throng, 
Beloved, admired for the truth 

Which would not stoop. to wrong.' 

I saw enrapt ten thousand forms, — 

In sacred silence stood — 
By eloquence, his eloquence. 

Poured forth in crystal flood. 
I listened to his language bold ; 

I looked upon his brow ; 
I gazed into his eagle eye, — 

Whose light is with me now ' 



THE DREAM OF LOVE. 235 

Till language, brow and eye enshrined 

"Within my innermost heart ; 
With his my very soul entwined — 

Of his became a part. 
In secret long I nursed the flame 

Which shed so soft a light ; 
Nor dreamed that he would ever name, 

Or heighten my delight. 



At length one balmy morn he came, 

And breathed into my ear 
The sweetest words I ever heard — 

The sweetest and most dear. 
His language I can ne'er recall, 

Though manna to my soul ; 
I only know his theme was love. 

And I the loved of all. 

I could not tell my love for him — 

It trembled on my tongue ; 
He saw it on my blushing cheek. 

And pressed it to his own. 
I could not breathe one single word, 

To tell him I was his ; 
But little beatings there were heard 

Of rapture and of bliss. 



286 PROSE AND POETRY. 

Thougli of love no word was spoken, 

Though breathed no vow to him, 
All the signs of love the token 

Were borne by cherubim. 
And written in the books of heaven, 

In characters of gold. 
To stand until the earth is riven, 

And heaven's joys unfold. 



In the pure ecstasy of love 

Passed sweet and happy days ; 
The angels round the throne above 

Taught me their joyous lays. 
And I essayed to touch the lyre, 

And sing love's sweetest song, 
In strains of heartfelt melody— 

In notes to God belong. 

In full sweet strains of joy I sang 

Of a cot within the vale ; 
And one lone minister of love. 

My loving heart to hail. 
And I sang of — I will confess — 

A darling, bright-eyed boy. 
My cottage in the vale to bless. 

His father's hope and joy. 



THE DREAM OF LOVE. 287 

But in my song a note of woe, 

High o'er the rest, was heard ! 
My dream of love will ne'er below 

Call forth a joyous word. 
'T was but a dream, too bright to last, 

And now from earth 't is gone ; 
But mem'ry sad recalls the past, 

And leaves my heart forlorn. 

Yes, the dream of love has passed away 

Unto the realms of night, 
Where never star nor sun is seen 

To shed one ray of light. 
And as a worn and wearied child 

Upon its mother's breast, 
I 'd lean my aching head on Thee, 

Thou only source of rest ! 

A bruised reed Thou wilt not break, 

Nor quench the smoking flax ; 
And though in anguish long I 've wept, 

Thou 'It stay the fatal axe. 
I know if I but kiss the rod 

By Thee " in mercy sent. 
The staff of comfort from my God 

Shall in his love be lent." 



238 PROSE AND POETRY, 



MY SPIRIT GROOM. 

In life's gay morn and vernal bloom, 
We met and loved, my spirit groom ! 
My hand you sought with noble pride — 
I knew myself your spirit bride, 
And gave at once a loving heart, 
Forgetting that the world could part 
The spirit bride and spirit groom, 
Or overcast their sun with gloom. 

Many long years we lived and loved, 
Many long years I gently moved 
A happy captive to love's sway, 
And dreamed of joy's unending day. 
No shadow dark, my spirit groonn. 
O'er this bright scene did darkly loom ! 
But as the snake in Eden roved, 
The tempter came, and potent proved. 



MT SPIRIT GROOM. 239 

Yes, Satan came with costly ore ; 
The paltry stuff you did adore ; 
And turned from me, your spirit bride. 
To lead another by your side. 
And call her ^' wife.'* 0, spirit groom ! 
I 'd have her loved, whatever my doom ; 
For blessings on her I '11 implore ; 
Though sad my fate, 1 11 not deplore. 



Another claims my spirit groom ; 
Another rose for him doth bloom ; 
A little bud opes by his side, 
And calls her ''mother,'' his earth bride. 
And yet I love her — love her child. 
And love him too, with passion wild. 
Wilt Thou, O Lord ! dispel this gloom. 
And guard with care my spirit groom ? 

Long years have flown since last we met. 
But still thy spell enchains me yet ; 
And naught can cheer this heart's sad gloom 
Save thoughts of thee, my spirit groom ! 
Thou 'It think of me when far away, 
I '11 think of thee when knelt to pray ; 
Though years have flown since last we met, 
You love me still — I love you yet. 



240 PROSE AND POETRY. 

0, love like yours, and love like mine, 
Too sacred was for earthly shrine ! 
" Our Father's House'' alone hath room 
For love like ours, my spirit groom ! 
And though on earth we never meet. 
In heaven each the other '11 greet ; 
And, like the stars, our love will shine 
With radiance bright, godlike, divine. 



AN OASIS. 241 



AN OASIS. 

I saw a green oasis once 

Amidst a barren waste. 
Where bright, pellucid streamlets flowed- 

Pure nectar to the taste ; 
Where lilies and white roses grew, 

Morjoram and sweet thyme, 
The mignonette its fragrance threw. 

And fruits of ev'ry clyme. 

In state the tall magnolia stood, 
And sweetly bloomed the while : 

The monarch of that favored wood 
Looked down with sweetest smile. 

And ev'ry little flow'ret shed 
Its perfume soft and sweet. 

And ev'ry little zephyr sped 

To bear it to God's feet. 
11 



242 PROSE AND POETRY. 

And many birds of plumage gay, 

And throats attuned to song, 
Their Maker's praise sang day by day, 

In chorus sweet and long. 
All nature joined the grateful strain, 

And trilled the joyous lay. 
Till zephyrs caught the strain again, 

And bore it far away. 

Upon that verdant spot by day 

The sun in beauty shone, 
Till like a sea of glory lay 

The flow'ret, tree and stone. 
And when the twihght hour came on 

With holy, rapturous spell. 
The moon in modesty looked down. 

And saw that all was well. 

No shiv'ring blast nor blighting frost 

Its loveliness did 'mar — 
The Storm-god, with destructive host, 

Kept from this spot afar. 
And Venus in her pathway bright, 

A brighter ray shed forth. 
As she beheld, with much delight, 

No ravage of the north. 



AN OASIS. 243 

Its Adam was a godlike man, 

Of form and brow erect; 
And his fair face the impress bore 

Of thoughts from God direct. 
Its Eve was beautiful and good, 

And moved with angel grace, 
As, in the flowery wild-wood, 

"With dew she bathed her face. 

Their children were a noble race, 

Living for good alone; 
"With not a single care to trace 

A line of sorrow's own. 
The serpent's trail ne'er entered there 

With sin's destructive breath; 
And not a single human care 

Brought on a human death. 

All nature to their store bequeathed 

An ofi*'ring rich and bright ; 
The very atmosphere they breathed 

Was pure as heavenly light. 
^'They worshipped in no lofty pile, 

No proud cathedral fane; 
God's universal temple theirs — 

Hill, valley, wood and plain." 



244 PROSE AND POETRY, 

Their friendsh.ip never waxed nor waned, 

But stronger grew with time, 
Till^ by the sacred spell enchained, 

Borne to still brighter clime. 
Their love — an angel's purest love, 

More pure than theirs could be. 
But not on earth the chosen dove 

Could woo from sin more free. 



Would you, dear friend, that Eden know, 

Amid what flow'ry plain, 
That you may enter bliss below, 

Nor live on earth in vain ? 
Wouldst thou shake off the coils of sin 

That bind thee to this earth. 
And hie thee to a home wherein 

Sin never yet had birth ? 

"Alas ! 'twas but a dream of night 
That showed that spot to me," 

And not on earth will spot so bright 
Be ever seen by thee. 



MY BIRD. 245 



MY BIED. 

Bird of the gay and joyous wing, 
Pour forth again thy tuneful lay ! 

Sweet is the song thou e'er dost sing 
At dewy eve or break of day ! 

I love thy song ! its gentle strain 
Has ofttimes cheered a lonely hour; 

And now I list its notes again, 
And feel once more its soothing power* 

A7hat makes thy heart, sweet bird, so light ? 

Ah ! naught of trouble thou dost know 
To mar thy joy, so fresh and bright. 

Or shadows cast by clouds of woe ! 

What makes thy tones so sweet and clear? 

Hast thou an angel's voice, my love, 
To .sing the hymns to mortal ear. 

Which vibrate round the throne above ? 



246 PROSE AND POETRY. 

I would that I could join thy song, 
And sing with thee the lays of love ; 

But grief has closed my harp so long, 
It would not chime with thee, my dove ! 

"There is no sorrow in thy song. 
Because no sin is in thy heart; 

And he whose soul is kept from wrong, 
Has learned the secret of thine art :'^ 

Has learned by faith to soar aloft. 
And trust in One who dwells on high. 

To cleanse from sins repeated oft, — 
"Who'll hear his song beyond the sky. 

''Sweet bird ! with gladnes in thy lay, 

And heaven's pure light upon thy wing, 

I seem to hear thy transports say, 

'Seek heaven, like me, if thou wouldst 



sino;.' " 



VERSES. 247 



VERSES 

TO A BEAUTIFUL, THOUGH VERY SAD-LOOKING, YOUNG LADY THE 
WRITER SAW IN SOUTH-WESTERN GEORGIA. 

Lady, we did but meet ; 

"No introduction passed; 
Thy name I could not greet, 

If we should meet at last. 

And yet IVe felt for thee 

A sister's tender love, 
A sister's sympathy : 

O, may we meet above ! 

I saw on thy young brow 

The lines of deepest woe ; 
They told of no joy now 

In any thing below. 
And on thy blanched cheek, 

The rose's faded hue 
Of withered hopes did speak. 

And of withered joys too. 



248 PROSE AND POETRY. 

Hast thou no brother's arm 

To shield thee from distress; 
Or, if should come alarm, 

To seek for thee redress? 
Hast thou no sister's love 

To brighten thy blue eye, 
And point to realms above, 

Where pleasures never die ? 

Hast thou no father old, 

To live for and to love ? 
Gird on thine armor bold. 

And woo the olive dove ! 
Hast thou no mother dear. 

To soothe thy aching breast ? 
Thy brother, Christ, is near — 

He'll give thee sweetest rest. 

Hast thou no friend to lend 

A helping hand to thee ? 
Thy Father, God, will send 

A friend who'll constant be. 
"If love has seared thy heart, 

A glorious hope is given. 
Which soothe's affliction's smart- 

There's purer love in heaven." 



VERSES. 249 

O, if there is not one 

To follow thy lone bier, 
"When life on earth is done, 

And shed a silent tear. 
Turn thy heart, so riven, 

Beyond the clouded sky, 
"To tenderer ties in heaven," 

Where loved ones never die. 



250 PROSE AND POETRY 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 



In the graveyard see them lie, 

Quietly, side by side ; 
No anxious thought that mortal eye 
Should gaze approving, or deride, 
Disturbs them now; 
No broken vow. 
Nor'- cold averted look — 
Oft seen in life's checkered book — 
Shivers now the pulseless heart; 
These it never more will brook. 
Peacefully the baby lieth 

In its narrow bed of clay; 
"While the soul that never dieth 
Lives in bliss through endless day 
Love it angels, love it dearly, 
Love it not as angels merely. 

Jesus said — 
And from his love-lit eye Divine 
Sparkled light too bright to shine 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 251 

Long on earth — 
To me let little children come, 
And share my bright, celestial home. 
Buds fresh and white, 
And diamonds bright, 
We ever want 
To glitter round the throne on high. 
Then love it, angels, love it dearly, 
Love it not as angels merely. 

In the graveyard see her lie, 
The youthful maiden fair; 
Called in the spring of life to die. 
In grief we laid her gently there : 
The flower sprite. 
In sacred might 
To earth came down. 
And took the rose, 
And then arose 
Far above mortal sight; 

! in thy might again come down. 
And tell to us the joys she's won: 

From earth we know she's passed away — 
Her earth-light dimmed and turned to night; 

But Faith points to a shining day. 
In which she basks in radiance bright — 
A flowret in that holy crown. 



252 PROSE AND POETRY. 

In the graveyard^see^her lie, 

The'aged motlier dear; 
No more the tear bedims her eye; 
'No more oppressed by anxious fear; 
No more exposed 
To human woes, 
For God has heard her life long prayer, 
And now in peace she lieth there. 

Hath it flown, her spirit bright ? 
Or lingereth it near its earth-worn garb ? 
Or nearer still in darkest night 

To those on earth most loved ? 
Points she still to that realm of light, 
Where Jesus is, from earth removed? 
Or hear ye the notes of an angePs song, 
As upward and homeward it speeds along ? 
0, list to those notes, 
As in ether it floats ! 
They will soothe thy spirit's sadness, 
And give peace to thee and gladness ; 

And, perchance. 
They'll guide thy wandering footsteps. 

In the paths of truth and love. 
And direct thy wayward spirit, 
"To the bright, bright world above, 
"Where the holy angels move." 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 253 

In the graveyard see him lie, 

The honored statesman bold ; 
His form doth moulder in the dust, 
His spirit shine more bright than gold : 
O, why did this statesman, 
Nature's true nobleman, 
The silent grave enfold ? 
Why does mortal worth 
Pass so soon from earth ? 
Why the manly voice. 
Hush so soon in death? 
Why ascend to heavenly sphere ? 
His nation wants his service here. 
O !]cease, vain heart ! 

His Saviour's praise 
Now claims, apart, 
His joyous lays. 

In the graveyard see him lie, 

The patriot brave ; 
His country's call he quick obeyed, 
And gave his life to save. 
"Better that death 
Should come, than 'neath 
A tyrant's yoke to rest. 
Or be by'/oes oppressed." 
He said : 



254 PROSE AND POETRY. 

"Better all the sweet joys of home — 
Its sacred love and tender ties — 

Should pass from time away, than come 
A despot's rule, and die as dies 
A coward mean.'' 

Thus fortified by valor strong, 

He bravely fought, but fell, ere long : 
And now his rest, so peaceful^ seems 
To ask steps that will not break its dreams. 

In the graveyard see them lie. 

Quietly, side by side ; 
No anxious thought that mortal eye 
Should gaze approving or deride. 
Disturbs them now ; 
iSTo broken vow, 
Nor cold averted look — 
Oft seen in life's checkered book — 
Shivers now the pulseless heart ; 
These it never more will brook. 
Peacefully the baby lieth 

On its mother's breast of clay ; 
While the soul that never dieth. 

Lives with Christ through endless day; 
And never more on eaath will wake. 
The maid the sprite came down to take. 
And the mother, aged mother, 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 255 

Lies beside the aged father; 
And the sons, 
And lovely daughters, calm in death, 
Are waiting for undying breath. 

The poor man. 
And he by opulence made bold. 
Slumber alike both stiff and cold. 
The poet sweet. 
And artist, meet 
And mingle here. 
The statesman and the patriot brave. 

Side by side with the coward mean; 
They cannot now their country save ; 
He cannot now to weakness lean. 

cruel grave ! 

Thou tenement of all ! 

Not always will thy sway be felt ! 

As Jesus from the grave arose — 

As near his cross the heart doth melt, 
And breathe to him its earthly woes — 

So the buried dead 

Will burst apart thy fetters strong, 

Their mortal forms hath held full long; 

And, Christ at their head, 

Will vanquish Death, their latest foe; 

His form into the caverns throw : 

One mighty grave 



256 PROSE AND POETRY. 

Will this tyrant have ! 
There, through Eternity's long day, 
With naught to cheer his cheerless way, 
He'll lie alone. 
Death, where is thy sting ? 
Grave, where is thy victory ? 



MEMORY. 257 



11* 



MEMOEY. 

I see the cottage in the glen, 
Remote from village, town, or fen, 
Where every toucli of taste was shown 
A mother's hand alone, alone 
Could give to beautify the scene, 
And make the bliss of Evergreen. 

I hear the fountain murm'ring still , 

I see the sloping of the hill, 

And sward, and banks, and clumps of trees 

Gently swaying in the breeze. 

Which gave enchantment to the scene, 

Around my home of Evergreen. 

I breathe the fragrance of the mead. 
And that which doth from fields proceed. 
And hear the songsters of the wood, 
Pour forth their hymns — a vocal flood : 
I gaze enraptured on the scene, 
And live once more at Evergreen. 



258 PROSE AND POETRY. 

I list once more to music's strain, 

And feel its soothing power again; 

It wakes and stirs, with pleasing thiillj 

Emotions of the heart and will, 

In this elysian, rural scene. 

Where is my home, sweet Evergreen, 

And now I con the classic page. 

Or converse sweet with friends engage 

To cheer this heart, too soon grown sad, 

And make my spirit light and glad. 

Amid the quiet little scene 

Around my home, sweet Evergreen. 

And now I gaze on worlds afar, 
Outshining far the brightest star, 
And, wrapped in meditation there, 
I dream of all things bright and fair — 
Of things surpassing e'en the scene 
That beauty gives to Evergreen. 

Yes, all these things before me pass, 
With the aid of memory's glass ! 
But nevermore on earth will wake, 
The bliss in youth I used to take 
Amid the dear, romantic scene 
Which give the charm to Evergreen. 



A FRAGMENT. 259 



A FRAGMENT. 

'Twas in the May-day of youth ! 

Her brow was fair as the page of truth ; 

No trouble had left its impress there; 

And o'er it wreathed her dark brown hair. 

I saw the soul in her mild blue eye, 

"Which gave to her cheek that glowing dye 

That beams midst Spring's ethereal showers, 

Brightening her world of shade and flowers. 

Her pure young heart was light and gay 

As Luna's beams on ocean spray; 

Her beauteous form appeared to sight 

Like an angel clad in robes of light ; 

"A foot more light, or a step more true. 

Ne'er from the heath-flower brushed the dew." 

I saw her crowned sweet queen of May, 

And reign in love that festal day ; 

"Whilst every heart in homage low 

Did near its queen devoutly bow. 



260 PROSE AND POETRY. 

I saw her again in woman's prime ! 
Her heart beat not to music's chime; 
And that marble brow, though very fair, 
Was marked by the lines of deep despair. 
And the soul I saw in her mild blue eye, 
Which gave to her cheek that glowing dye, 
lS[o longer beamed with radiant love 
On aught beneath her home above. 
And too soon, alas ! that lovely form 
Bowed to the blast, and bent to the storm; 
And slow and feeble her pulses played 
As her thoughts afar too often strayed. 
She moved a shadow — a spirit of fear, 
As one whose home is not of this sphere ; 
And walked the earth alone — alone^ 
As one from every friend uptorn. 

^^Was it sickness that made her cheek so pale, 
Or was it the trace of weeping and wail?" 

"The deceiver came — his syroc breath, 
Blanched her fair cheek with the hue of death ! 
And now, as a beautiful wounded bird. 
Whose rich-toned notes in each grove were heard, 
'Till a thoughtless shot deep pierced its side. 
It never sang more, but languished and died ; 



A FRAGMENT, 261 

She is passing from earth away — away, 

"Without one comforting, cheering ray, 

Her happiness wrecked, her spirit torn. 

And on life's current rudely borne, 

To stem the tide and buffet the wave, 

'Till she sink unwept to her welcome grave." 



262 PROSE AND POETRY 



THE ZEPHYR. 

Daughter of Aurora ! whence comest thou, 
In beauty and freshness to kiss my warm brow ? 
All laden with sunshine — all laden with love, 
And sweet balmy nectar just dropped from above? 

"From the flowery walks of Valhalla I come. 
Where the rose's cup is my elysian home; 
Fve been to the Queen of the Morn — at her call, 
I've borne sweet fragrance to her star-columned 

hall; 
I've quivered the leaves of the forest boughs, 
And songsters have risen to warble their vows ; 
I have kissed the sod where the green grass grows 

high. 
And the lark is now hymning her melody. 
I've been to the chamber of beauty, and there 
Have played with long ringlets of radiant hair: 
I've wreathed her fair neck which but the snow 

eclipsed, 
And sipped the rich dew from her odorous lips. 



THE ZEPHYB, 263 

I've carried the plaint of a love-burdened strain ; 

And the maiden blushed deep at the murmur of 
pain. 

'Twas the same gentle sigh which but yestereve 
fell; 

It had kissed her soft hand, it had bade her fare- 
well. 

I have been to the bleak house of death, and from 

thence 
Have winged the freed soul to Omnipotence ! 
'Twas an innocent, beautiful babe, and the sigh 
Of the mother was heard in the cloud-paths on 

high — 
Half mingled with prayer to the seraphim given. 
Who smiled when it welcomed the baby to heaven. 
To Italians seas I go, where the gondola rides, 
Like a nymph of the deep, o'er the languishing 

tides ; 
Whilst waves one by one into slumber fast fall. 
And not a breath's heard save the Zephyr's call. 
'Tis the clamor of voices I hear swells the dome — 
Loud the call is for ^Zephyr' — I come, I come. 
To your sun-lighted shores — to your bright seas 

away; 
There are wan ones awaiting, I dare not delay; 
I've flower-loves to meet — I have vows to renew, 
I fan your warm, brow — Adieu, lady ! adieu !" 



264 PROSE AND POETRY. 



^ SPEIJSTG. 

Thou'rt come again, sweet youth of time ! 

In all thy pristine sheen ; 
"With voice attuned to music chime, 

And robes of brightest green. % 
Thou'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing, 

And joy's fresh op'ning day; 
And buds and blossoms thou dost bring 

To scatter by the way. 

Thy step is felt o'er hill and dale; 

It glides along the main; 
'Tis bounding o'er the modest vale, 

And quiv'ring o'er the plain. 
/ feel thy impulse through me thrill. 

It throbs through heart and brain ; 
'Tis coursing through each little rill. 

And through each larger vein. 



SPUING. 265 

The turtle's song is heard again, 

And the cuckoo's gentle call ; 
No more the nightingales complain 

Of Winter's frozen pall. 
The mockhird's song at early dawn, 

The thrush at noontide hour, 
And, as the dewy eve comes on, 

The hummingbird in rosy bower. 

Thou 'rt come again, sweet youth of time! 

Thy glory spreads from pole to poie ! 
The sunny South, and Northern clime, 

Wake in joys at thy control ! 
Thou 'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing; 

I see thj' glory in the East ! 
The birds, and bees, and brooklets sing. 

As ^'lii^ht bv lio:ht's increased." 

Thou hast breathed into mother earth 

Thy fructifying breath, 
And " nature bounds, as from her birth 

She gathers might and strength. 
Already see the flowers start 

To ''beautify her feet;" 
Already feel the bounding heart, 

Up-spring the flowers to ^reet. 



266 PROSE AND POETRY. 

The violets are blooming now, 

Where late the storm-god whirled ; 
And ice-drops from his shaggy brow, 

Are dewdrops now by zephyrs stirred. 
The crocus and the liUic's hue 

Is fittins: now a roval kinsc; 
The hyacinth and tulip, too, 

Tributes of rich frao:rance brino;. 

Thou'rt come asrain, sweet youth of time 

With merry pleasant hours; 
And voice attuned to n)usic's chime, 

In fairy woodland bowers. 
Thou'rt come, with sunlight on thy wing, 

And roses on thy brow; 
And beauty's smile on ev'rv tliino; 

Which bedeck thy patlnvay now. 



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